


Wait, is Richie Famous?

by IAmTheUnsub



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Derry, Eddie Kaspbrak Lives, Except Stan, F/M, Famous Richie Tozier, Fluff and Smut, Gay Richie Tozier, Gen, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Memory Loss, Multi, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier is a Little Shit, Richie has drug issues, Soft Richie Tozier, Stanley Uris Lives, Sub Richie Tozier, because patty deserves better, but he also has a puppy, derry makes you forget, everyone gets divorced, platonic sugar daddy Richie, richie just wants to treat his friends
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 08:21:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 23,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22124020
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IAmTheUnsub/pseuds/IAmTheUnsub
Summary: The memory loss the Losers experience doesn't just make them forget each other, it also made them unaware of each other. They've never read Bill's books, seen Ben's buildings or Bev's designs. It comes as a shock to everyone except Mike that Richie is famous.“Wait… have you guys never seen Richie’s stuff? Anyone?”The Losers all shake their heads, mildly perplexed.“Have any of you read Bill’s books? Or seen one of Bev’s dresses on the Red Carpet? Heard about one of Ben’s projects?” Mike questions them, rapid-fire.An understanding dawns over Stan’s face.“The fucking clown” he breathes.“What?” Eddie asks.“You all forgot each other, but I never thought about it a lot. It was… kind of hurtful, you know? I mean, I kept track of you all, but none of you seem to know what the others were doing? Richie’s pretty high profile, guys. And none of you even know?”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Patricia Blum Uris/Stanley Uris, Richie Tozier/Original Male Character(s)
Comments: 57
Kudos: 461





	1. VIP Treatment

**Author's Note:**

> So, this started off as a tiny drabble idea and now is a multi-chapter fic apparently? Oh well.  
> Fun fact, the Bangor International Airport website sucks. But they have a 'VIP service' with armed guards?! Wild.  
> Basically just an excuse for me to make Richie famous and a Bill Hader stand-in.
> 
> I am dyslexic, please point out any spelling issues!

The Losers stand in the middle of Bangor International Airport, just staring at each other. Even though their flights are all leaving at different times, they’d made the journey to the airport together, crammed into two cars just to steal another few minutes together. But now, standing in front of the check-in desks, the reality of the situation has finally hit them.

“So, t-this is it, huh?” Bill breaks the silence.

“Seems like it”, Ben agrees with a weak smile. His arm tightens around Bev, just a little.

“We just murder a clown and then split up?” Richie asks, a little too loud.

“Richie! Shut the fuck up, dude!” Eddie hisses at him, somehow elbowing Richie in the ribs and sending an alarmed-looking old lady a beatific smile at the same time.

“Dude? Did you just call me dude? Are we going surfing after this? Gonna’ catch some gnarly waves, bro?” Richie giggles in a fairly decent impression of a Californian surfer, dodging Eddie’s further attacks. The others watch them with fondness and exasperation.

Mike glances up at the departures board overhead and frowns.

“Check-in just opened for Florida”, he declares reluctantly, stopping the merriment short.

The tense atmosphere returns, separation anxiety blanketing them heavily. One by one, the Losers step up to hug Mike goodbye. Stan and Bev holding him gently, Ben squeezing tightly and Eddie somehow managing to make a hug characteristically aggressive. It's when Bill tries to surreptitiously wipe away tears as he pulls back that Richie cracks.

“Oh, fuck this!” he exclaims.

“Rich?” Mike asks, making an aborted gesture as if to pull the comedian in for his own hug. Richie gratefully accepts the hug, then pushes back again to address the group.

“Show of hands, who actually wants to split up?”

None of them raise their hands. Richie flails his arms excitedly at them all.

“So why the fuck are we doing it?” He asks, pulling at his hair in frustration.

“We have lives, Richard” Stan drawls.

“What about your life is so important that you’re willing to destroy this beautiful seven-way relationship, Stan!?” Richie feigns shock, a scandalised hand over his heart.

“My wife, for one” Stan offers.

“Easy! Bring her along! She must be a loser if she married you” Richie shoots back.

“It’s not that easy Richie, Bill and Eddie have wives too! We all have jobs” Stan retorts.

“Um, actually…” Bill interjects, hand scrubbing nervously at the back of his neck.

When the rest of the group turn their attention to him, he just holds his left hand up, showing off his un-adorned fingers. Richie isn’t sure if he’s the only one who notices his eyes lingering on Mike, or the small upward pull at the corner of Mike’s lips. 

“Ditto”, Eddie grins, wiggling his equally barren fingers at Bill.

“Wow, shit’s contagious”, Bev joins in from her spot under Ben’s arm, rubbing at the tan line where her own wedding ring rested a few days prior.

“I didn’t even realise you were married”, Eddie mutters, genuinely confused.

“What? Guys, what the fuck! Does this mean I have to divorce Eddie’s mom?”, Richie jokes, trying not to stare at Eddie’s naked ring finger.

“Fuck you, dude” Eddie yells.

“Again with the ‘dude’!” Richie crows, delighted.

“I have to say, Eddie. I kind of figured something was up when you brought a million suitcases with you”, Mike tries to bring the conversation back on track.

“Yeah… honestly, I kind of packed my whole life up while Myra was out picking up my prescriptions”, Eddie explains, cheeks reddening.

“Oh, so you had like eight hours?” Richie asks innocently, dodging Eddie’s elbow yet again.

“What about you, Bill? You marry an A-list actress and give it up, just for us?” Bev asks, batting her lashes in faux-flirtation.

“You were married to an actress?”, Richie questions, wincing when he lets his guard down enough for Eddie to get in a solid shot at his ribs. 

“Uh, yeah, A-Audra Phillips, well Denbrough, or not I g-guess. Maybe she’s Phillips again now? I’m not sure how it w-works” Bill ponders.

“Oh, Audra’s a nice gal, Bill.” Richie comments mildly, as if he doesn’t have Eddie in a headlock.

“You’re a fan? Didn’t peg you for a rom-com junkie, Rich.” Bev teases.

“You can peg me any time you like, Bev. But I meant she was nice when I met her. Also she’s done some pretty good shit!” Richie argues indignantly

“You… you’ve m-met her?” Bill asks, face confused and slightly disbelieving, as if he’s waiting for a punchline.

“Yeah, we did a movie together a while back”, Richie barely looks up from where he’s using his knuckles to destroy Eddie’s perfectly coiffed hair.

“You… did a movie together?” Ben asks, cautious.

“Uh, yeah. Back in like... twenty-fourteen, I think?” Richie responds.

While he was thinking about the exact date, his grip slackens just enough for Eddie to get the upper hand and he quickly finds himself face down on the tiled floor with Eddie’s knee pressed into the small of his back. Mike hisses in sympathy, but Stan takes his phone out and starts snapping pictures. 

“So what are we saying? Splitting up or not splitting up?” Eddie asks, ignoring Richie’s thrashing underneath him.

“Wait! I’ve got that covered!” Richie exclaims, flipping Eddie over and hopping back up onto his feet again. None of the Losers failed to notice that he’d slipped a hand under Eddie’s head to cushion it from the floor. A courtesy Eddie certainly hadn’t afforded him. As Richie sprints off around a corner, Ben reaches down and pulls Eddie up off the floor.

“Where the f-fuck is he g-going?” Bill asks, staring bemusedly after Richie.

“God only knows” Stan replies, utterly unconcerned.

“Should we f-follow him?” Bill asks, trying to spot Richie in the crowd.

Stan opens his mouth to respond, but Richie comes careening back around the corner before he can speak.

“Is everyone cool with LA?” he asks, skidding to a stop in front of them.

“Fuck yes!”, Bev agrees enthusiastically, “I haven’t been to LA in _forever_!”

“I’m good with it” Ben adds, face splitting into a grin to match Bev’s.

“It’s as sunny as Florida”, Mike shrugs.

“Hang on, I haven’t fucking agreed to any of this yet!” Stan argues.

“Stan. Stanley. Stan the Man”, Richie wheedles him.

“What?!” Stan snaps.

“I don’t know. I was hoping you’d just agree”, Richie replies, sheepish.

“I can’t afford this shit Richie! I took emergency time off work to come here, I can’t afford to take more time off and fly my wife to LA!” Stan hisses at him.

“Oh…did I not mention I’d pay? I’m totally paying!” Richie looks around the group for support.

All at once, the Losers start yelling their refusal, but Richie just cackles and runs away again. 

“CALL YOUR WIFE AND HAVE HER PACK A BAG STANLEY!”, He yells over his shoulder.

“Jesus fucking Christ, he’s such an asshole”, Stan grumbles, but he pulls his phone out and walks a little way away from the group to talk to Patty. Once he hangs up and returns to the group, they try to figure out a way to stop Richie’s plan.

“We aren’t really going to let him pay for this, are we?” Ben asks.

“Fuck no! I have my own money!” Bev exclaims.

“Yeah, dude’s a comedian, he can’t afford eight flights” Eddie agrees.

“You’re kidding, right?” Mike asks him.

“No? I mean, I’m no expert, but telling jokes in dingy clubs can’t pay well” Eddie replies, confused by Mike’s question.

“Wait… have you guys never seen Richie’s stuff?” Mike asks, looking at the Losers one by one.

They all look at each other, expecting someone else to speak up and confirm that they’d managed to catch a performance. None of them do.

“Anyone?”, Mike asks again.

The Losers all shake their heads, mildly perplexed.

“Have any of you read Bill’s books? Or seen one of Bev’s dresses on the red carpet? Heard about one of Ben’s projects?” Mike questions them, rapid-fire.

An expression of understanding dawns over Stan’s face.

“The fucking clown” he breathes.

“What?” Eddie asks.

“You all forgot each other, but I tried not to think about it too often. It was… kind of hurtful, you know? I mean, I kept track of you all, but none of you seem to know what the others were doing? Richie’s pretty high profile, guys. And none of you even know?” Mike cuts himself off before he starts a full-blown rant. Bill drapes a guilty arm around him and Mike leans into the comfort.

“What? No he’s not! He’s like, a circuit comedian, right?” Eddie protests.

“W-well, he d-did say he’d done a m-movie with Audra”, Bill offered.

“Yeah! The Skeleton Twins. It’s a really good movie. Bill, don’t you find it weird that your wife did a movie and you’ve never seen it?” Mike asks.

“I mean, n-now that you point it out, yeah. I’ve s-seen pretty much everything she’s d-done” Bill replies, an uneasy expression flitting across his features.

“And that kid did recognise him at the restaurant!” Ben adds.

“Wait, are you trying to tell me tha-” Eddie is interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.

“Excuse me?”

The Losers turn to face the newcomer, only to see an airport employee. The woman was well-dressed, with her hair pinned up ornately and her face expertly made-up. She stood a respectable distance away from them, hands folded primly in front of her as she waits for their attention.

“Are you the… Losers?” She asks.

“Uh, yeah, t-that’s us” Bill replies.

“Wonderful, if you could follow me please, Mr Tozier is waiting for you” she says.

The Losers collectively decide they have no choice but to go along with her and move to pick up their bags.

“Oh, no. Don’t worry about your things,” The employee stops them and gestures behind them. In what seems like seconds, two other staff members come out of nowhere and whisk their bags away on a luggage cart. The woman turns and walks off, leaving the Losers to follow her.

*

Less than ten minutes later, the Losers are admitted to a lush lounge and shown to the bar, where Richie is nursing an intricate looking cocktail and chatting with the bartender. He looks up and grins widely at them when he notices them standing there, visibly confused.

“Hey guys! Took you long enough!” he crows.

“Richie… what the fuck is this?!” Stan explodes, looking around him at the luxurious surroundings.

“It’s a lounge, Stan. Chill out, order a drink from Seth here. There’ll be food on the plane but there’s a buffet here too if you’re hungry”, Richie gestures across the room to a huge buffet.

Eddie looked between Richie and the bar for a second before giving in.

“Fuck it, can I get a gin and tonic, please?” he asks the bartender, Seth, reaching for his wallet.

“Sure thing, food and drink are on the house unless you order something top shelf though” The bartender answers, reaching for a glass. Eddie shrugs, drops five dollars into the tip jar and moves to sit beside Richie.

“Gin and tonic, very fancy Edward. Marvellous choice” Richie teases him in his British Guy voice.

“Your drink has two umbrellas and a curly straw, you can’t say shit” Eddie retorts.

“There was a sparkler in there too, but it went out before you got here” Richie replies with a grin.

Eddie just chuckles and reaches to take his drink from Seth with a grateful smile. One by one, the other Losers order, each dropping a bill into the tip jar. Soon, the Losers are sitting around the bar, chatting and planning out tourist spots to visit in LA. Mike and Stan are speaking quietly to each other about hotel options.

“There’s the Standard on Sunset Strip? If we double up it’d be like sixty dollars each a night?” Mike offered, turning his phone around to show Stan.

“Wait”, Richie looks away from his conversation with Eddie, “You guys want to stay at a hotel?”

“Well… yeah, Rich. Unless you expect to put all six of us and Patty on your couch?” Stan asks sarcastically.

“I mean, I was planning on putting you in guest rooms, but if you want to pile up on the couch that’s your business” Richie throws back.

“You have r-room for us all?”, Bill asks, unsure.

“Yeah, I mean I’m assuming Ben and Bev are cool with sharing a room?” Richie turns to the couple for confirmation. Bev nods firmly while Ben blushes, “Then yeah, I’ve got room”. 

Eddie can’t take it anymore; he has to know.

“Richie, are you fam-”

“Excuse me, Mr Tozier?” Eddie finds himself being interrupted again, by the bartender this time. 

“Yeah?” Richie looks up with a bright smile.

“I’m sorry, I know this isn’t really professional, but myself and the receptionists are huge fans. Is there any chance you’d be willing to take a few pictures before your flight boards?” He gestures to the entrance of the lounge, where two young women sitting behind the reception desk were trying desperately to look like they were working, and not eavesdropping.

“Seth, you make me another one of those cocktails and I’ll do a whole photo shoot with you” Richie jokes, standing up and walking towards reception area.

The bartender hops the bar and chases after him, excitedly pulling his phone out of his back pocket. The Losers watch as Richie reaches the reception desk and is immediately engulfed in hugs from the other employees. He chats with them for a minute or two before they start taking turns posing for pictures with him. Bev was proud to see him ask permission before putting his arm around any of them. They all laughed as he did a cheesy prom pose with each of them, acting as little spoon for Seth and using the paper umbrellas from his drink as corsages. 

“Shit, guys. I think Richie might be famous” Eddie groaned.

“Told you”, Mike told them smugly, before calling out to the Richie and his fans, “Do you guys want me to take a group photo?”

“Yes! Mikey, bring your artistic vision over her!” Richie exclaims.

After some more overly dramatic posing, Richie hugs the receptionists again and walks back to the bar with one arm around Mike and his other looped through the bartender’s. Just as Seth jumps back over the bar, two huge men in security uniforms let themselves into the lounge and start towards the Losers’ table. Eddie predictably panics, thinking that maybe they weren’t allowed to be here and Richie had snuck them in somehow.

“Tozier party?” the one on the left asks.

“That’s us” Richie replies, calm as ever.

“Your flight is ready for you to board, if you’ll follow us. Do you have any bags you’d like us to take?” The other one chimes in.

Richie looks around at them before replying, “Not unless emotional baggage counts”.

The one on the left snorts out a laugh and nods for them to follow him. The group downs the last of their drinks and stands to comply.

“Wait!” Seth the bartender protests, reaching across the bar to hand Richie a to-go coffee cup with a paper umbrella piercing the lid. Richie fakes a happy sob, wiping at his eyes as he takes the cup.

As he walks away, Richie reaches out dramatically to Seth, who readily reaches back, smiling widely.

“I’ll never forget you, Seth!” Richie hollers through the closing lounge door. 

*

“I’m not getting on that thing” Eddie declares firmly, arms crossed.

Richie, already aboard the golf cart, though disappointed that he wasn’t allowed to drive, just rolled his eyes.

“C’mon Eddie, it’s perfectly safe. It even has seat belts!” the comedian cajoles him, pointed at his own, already-fastened, seat belt.

“No way, those things are a roll hazard. The airport isn’t even that big, I’ll just walk to the gate.” Eddie is unmoved.

“We can’t allow that, Sir. All VIP party members have to be personally escorted to their gate.” One of the security guards explains.

“I’m not the VIP, though, Richie is”, Eddie protests.

“Nevertheless, Sir. You’re part of the group and we are responsible for your safety” The security guard tries to reason with him.

“What are you even keeping us safe from?” Eddie asks, exasperated.

“Oh come on Eddie. Surely the less time you spend in germy crowds, the better?” Bev asks, knowing it was the only argument that could convince him.

“…Fine” Eddie agrees reluctantly, taking his jacket off and draping it over the seat before sitting down and re-crossing his arms huffily. The other Losers sit down and the cart took off once they were buckled up.

As they zipped through the airport, a few people seem to recognise Richie and call out to him. He always waves back with a huge smile. One woman calls out to Bev that she had worn a Marsh Designs wedding dress, Bev squeals and calls out for the woman to tweet photos at her. Once they reach their gate, a flight attendant meets them with a smile and guides them down the jetway. Expecting the usual cramped setting of an airplane, the Losers are shocked to be shown to the first class cabin. Each of their hand luggage bags were resting on a plush armchair-style seat with a huge TV in front of it. Richie grabs his bag and tucks it under his seat, flopping down comfortably onto it. He turns and opens a little door beside him, revealing a tiny mini-bar filled with sodas and snacks. He selects a Twinkie and takes a huge bite. Mouth still full, he notices the Losers just standing in the aisle, dumbstruck.

“Richie, how much did all this cost?” Mike chokes out, not sure if he wants to hear the answer.

“Don’t worry about it” Richie brushes him off.

“Don’t worry about it?! Richie this must have been thousands of dollars!” Bev protests.

Richie just stares at them all placidly, then takes another bite of his Twinkie. Eddie just shrugs and takes his seat next to Richie, following his lead and perusing his own mini-bar.

“I got him out of the Deadlights, he owes me this” Eddie explains when he sees the Losers staring at him now.

Richie howls with laughter at that, reaching over to shove Eddie playfully.

“You guys better sit down before you get yelled at by a flight attendant”, Richie declares pointedly to the group.

“Richie, I really don’t know if I’m comfortable with you spending this amount of money on me” Mike says softly, hovering over his own seat as if he’s too afraid to sit down. 

Richie sighs heavily and twists around to look Mike in the eye as he talks to him.

“Mikey, we’ve spent the last few days getting terrorised by a clown. Eddie got stabbed in the face, Bev and Ben almost drowned, you got tossed across a cave, Billy damn near got eaten in a maze, Stan almost bled to death and I got sucked into an alien brain and dropped like twenty feet onto stone. I think we deserve some luxury and I’m too fucking tall to spend like ten hours in an economy seat. You deserve to leave Derry for the first time in style. Let me do this” Richie pleads.

“…It was only like eight feet, Rich” Mike replies, giving in.

Richie smiles softly at him, then turns his over-exaggerated puppy-dog eyes onto the rest of the group. They all quickly sit down.

“Fine, but I’m paying for dinner once we get there” Ben announces in a no-nonsense tone, pointing a finger firmly at Richie.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, Haystack” Richie agrees happily.

Just as the Losers seem accept their situation, an air steward comes down the aisle.

“Champagne?”, he asks, offering a tray loaded down with glasses to the group.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Richie” Stan intones, dropping his head into his left hand, even as he holds his right out to accept a glass.

Richie just cackles gleefully and takes his own glass.


	2. Mobbed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie has fans... and staff?  
> Stan and Patty share an Instagram account. Don't @ me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have work in 6 hours, but here I go posting again.  
> As per usual, let the dyslexic know about spelling issues. Please and thank you.  
> I tried that 'Social media/twitter/instagram in a fic' thing the kids are so fond of these days but I'm not sure I pulled it off.

“I’ve never seen him so relaxed”, Richie whispers gleefully, nudging Eddie with his elbow.

Eddie follows his gaze to Stan, curled up in his comfortable chair with his back to them, airline blanket tucked under his chin. Eddie knew there would be at least six empty champagne flutes littered around him if the airline staff weren’t so attentive, swooping in every time he drained one to take the glass and offer him another one.

“Is he even awake?” Eddie asks, craning his neck to try and get a glimpse of Stan’s face.

Richie pulls his pillow out from under his head, takes careful aim, and launches it across the aisle at Stan. It hits him directly in the chest with a satisfying thump. Eddie and Richie both turn away quickly, Richie dropping his head back and pretending to be asleep and Eddie grabbing the in-flight menu and flipping through it thoughtfully. When Stan doesn’t scream at them, they both bravely take a peek. Stan has rolled towards them, the pillow-projectile clutched to his chest, clearly asleep. Richie erupts into laughter, loud and unabashed, while Eddie shushes him and tries to stifle his own giggles at the same time.

“Mr Tozier?” asks a flight attendant, who apparently materialised out of nowhere to stand beside them.

“Hi!” Richie greets the man enthusiastically.

The flight attendant just smiles and holds out a fresh pillow, which Richie takes gratefully. He turns to Eddie and raises his eyebrows in disbelief and awe.

“They’re fucking psychic, Eds” he hisses as soon as the man is out of earshot.

“Don’t call me that, asshole” Eddie protests, out of habit more than anything else.

* * *

Once the plane lands at LAX, the Losers disembark in various stages of dishevelment. Ben is practically carrying a sleepy Bev, Bill and Mike are animatedly talking about the sightseeing opportunities in Los Angeles. Stan had managed to keep the airline blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he stumbles sleepily after the group, a hand fisted in the back of Mike’s shirt to let the other man lead him. Eddie is flitting around the group, dolling out dollops of his travel-sized hand sanitiser. Richie watches the scene happily with a _**‘Junior Pilot’**_ sticker that one of the flight attendants had given him stuck smack dab in the middle of his forehead.

Once they reach the end of the jetway, the Losers are met by three airport security guards and led to another gate.

“Please tell me we aren’t getting on another flight”, Eddie begs, looking horrified at his almost empty hand sanitiser. 

“Nope, I wouldn’t make you get in two airborne bacteria tubes in one day, Eds. Patricia’s flight is getting in soon” Richie explains, looking up at the arrivals board above the gate.

“Patty?”, Stan perks up, looking eagerly out the window.

The Losers don’t have to wait long before a plane lands and passengers start emerging from the gate. They aren’t sure who they’re looking for until Stan waves at a small, pretty woman with a neck pillow on and a sleep-mask resting on her forehead. The woman notices him and turns to start trudging towards them, looking totally blissed out. Richie waves off the security guard who tries to block her path. She walks right by her husband and flops onto Richie, wrapping him in a loose hug.

“You. You’re my favourite” she mumbles into his shirt.

“Uh…hi. It’s nice to meet you too, Patty”, he responds, bemused, but wraps his arms around her anyway.

“He bought you a first class seat too, huh?” Stan asks his wife.

She nods into Richie’s chest, squeezes him tightly for a second, then turns and embraces her husband sweetly. After a moment of them whispering quietly, she looks up and smiles bashfully at the rest of the group.

“Hello, everyone. I’m Patty and I’m not usually this rude, I promise” She says.

“It’s totally fine, Patty. Those seats had me in a coma for at least twenty minutes after we landed. I’m Bev, by the way!” the redhead introduces herself.

“It was the free alcohol that got me, I’m Mike, by the way” Mike adds, reaching out to shake her hand.

“I hate to break this up, but we need to get moving before we cause a disruption”, one of their security guards interrupts sternly. He pulls Richie to stand behind him and gestures towards the passengers still disembarking from the plane. The Losers looked back to see a few small groups of people whispering and pointing at them, some even with their phones out, pointed right at them. Richie peeks around the security guard to wave and smile cheekily at the crowd. As soon as they catch a glimpse of his face, the people get more excited, camera flashes start going off and a few people start moving towards them. The other two security guards swoop in to shield the Losers from view and shuffle them through a door marked **‘EMPLOYEES ONLY’**. 

One of the security guards pulls out a radio and has a quiet conversation for a second while another does a headcount of the Losers. They then find themselves being led down a concrete hallway.

“There’s a car waiting for y’all outside the arrivals building, so we’re taking you right there”, the main security guard tells them.

“What about our bags?” Eddie questions.

“Already taken care of, sir.”

“Don’t worry, Eds. Your mobile pharmacy is in safe hands” Richie teases, ducking behind one of the guards when Eddie swings for him.

After about ten minutes of leisurely walking down the hallway and chatting, the main guard’s radio crackles to life again and he gestures for them to go ahead of him while he responds. Another of the guards takes the lead and they carry on for a few minutes before the first guard catches up.

“We have a slight issue”, he tells them grimly. 

“Please don’t let it be clowns” Ben moans.

“Clowns?” The guard asks, confused.

“Ignore him, he’s very jet-lagged”, Bev smiles sweetly at the guard, who just nods, unconvinced.

“…Right. Anyway, someone back there posted pictures of you and geotagged them to the arrivals area of the airport”, he takes out his own phone and shows the group a photo of Richie waving cheerily from behind him.

“Okay, s-so what?” Bill asks.

“So there’s a crowd gathering outside and we aren’t sure if it’s going to be safe to get ya’ll out that way for much longer” the guard tells him.

“Jesus, how big of a crowd?” Ben asks.

“About fifty people so far, they’re setting up barriers right now, but we need to pick up the pace” The guard then walks off at a faster speed, ushering Richie along by the elbow.

“Barriers?” Eddie asks the other Losers. Mike just shrugs and takes off after Richie, the rest of the group follow with the other two guards bringing up the rear.

* * *

When they finally reach the other side of the seemingly endless corridor and get to the door on the other side, they can already hear the sound of a crowd through it.

“That sounds like a lot more than fifty people”, Eddie comments warily.

The three security guards (Johnny, Daniel and Wendy, as they had learned during their walk) push to the front of the group and crack the door open to look out. The noise grows exponentially as soon at the door opens.

“Holy shit!” Mike exclaims, awed.

“Yeah, we’re gonna have to do this really carefully”, Johnny replies. He gestures for the other two guards to join him and leads them through the door.

As soon as they’re gone, the Losers crowd around the door. Mike and Bev get there first and peek through it. After a second they pull their heads back in and turn to stare right at Richie in unsettling synchronicity. 

“What? Is it bad? I wanna see!” Richie whines, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse.

“Rich, there’s about a thousand people out there”, Mike tells him.

“Some of them have signs. How did they make signs so fast?” Bev questions.

“There’s paparazzi out there!” Patty adds excitedly from where she’d ducked under Mike’s arm to take a peek for herself.

“Really? How do I look?” Richie asks her, striking an overly exaggerated pose.

“Like a really scruffy sugar daddy”, Petty responds, reaching up to peel the sticker off his forehead and press it to his shirt instead.

“Seems on brand for me, to be honest” He accepts with a nod.

They all jump back when the door starts to swing open again, leaning back against the walls in the least casual way imaginable. Johnny, Daniel and Wendy squeeze back into the hallway with them.

“What’s the play, Coach?” Richie asks.

“Your driver is waiting right at the door and we’ve managed to clear a path with the barriers. We’re taking your friends first, then you, just to try and keep the crowd calm for as long as possible”

Wendy looks at Ben, Bill and Bev in turn before she speaks. “We’re going to go in order of…”

“Least famous to most famous?” Stan asks, throwing her a bone.

“Yeah, thanks” Wendy replies, visibly relieved that none of them seem offended.

“So librarian, risk analyst, accountant and… Patty, what do you do?” Richie asks, pointing at them one by one.

“Oh, I’m a wedding planner” Patty informs him.

“Very cool! My agent is engaged actually; I’ll have to introduce you!”

“Mr Kaspbrak, Mr and Mrs Uris and Mr Hanlon, we’ll take you first”, Daniel interjects.

“I made the famous group? Awesome” Ben celebrates with a quiet fist pump, Bev smiles indulgently at him. 

Wendy and Daniel gather the first group up and usher them out the door, which Johnny closes firmly behind them. The huge crowd gets louder, buzzing with excitement at the movement, only to die down again when they don’t recognise anyone. Once they get to the door, Mike, Stan, Patty and Eddie are handed over to another security team, this time it’s two men dressed in black suits. They’re pushed into a huge black SUV. The man in the driver’s seat turns around to greet them.

“Hi! First time running the gauntlet? It’s crazy right? I’m Arnie by the way, Richie’s driver” he says, reaching back to shake their hands.

“When they said there was a car, I thought they meant, like, an uber” Eddie replies, dumbstruck.

“Nope, you’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” Arnie tells him, turning to face forward again.

Then, through the closed doors of the car, they hear the crowd start to get restless again. They all press up against the windows to watch Ben, Bill and Bev getting brought out. The crowd seems a little more excited this time. A few of the paparazzi start to call out questions about Tom and Audra, but they’re ignored as the group rush to the car and pile in. Arnie repeats his introduction to them, then pulls out his phone.

“We all in? Ben, Bill, Bev, Mike Eddie, Stan and Patty? Cool, time for the fun part” He grins, putting the car in gear and gesturing for them to look again just as the crowd starts up, the loudest they’ve been so far.

Through path in the middle of the roaring crowd, the Losers can see Richie. Unlike the rest of them, he isn’t being rushed. Daniel, Wendy and Johnny were just walking alongside him, keeping a close eye on the crowd. The paparazzi have gone absolutely nuts, screaming questions at Richie as their cameras flash.

_“Richie! Richie! Tell us where you’ve been!”_

_“Mr Tozier! Is it true that your on-stage breakdown was due to your drug problem?”_

_“Richie! Was that Beverly Marsh? Are you two dating? Did you break up her marriage?”_

Richie keeps a broad, sunny smile on his face, but at the last question, Eddie sees it grow a little brittle. About halfway down the impromptu red carpet, Richie spots some people waving posters from his recent tour and jogs over to them.

“Hey guys! You got a marker? They confiscated mine at TSA. Did you know you can bring a plane down with a Sharpie?” he jokes.

The fans laugh uproariously and one hands him a neon pink sharpie. Richie signs a poster, draws devil horns on himself, then moves on to the next one, giving himself a ridiculous moustache, he draws a dick on his forehead on the next one. The Losers can’t hear his conversation from the car, but they can tell he’s having the time of his life, giggling to himself as he draws.

After about ten minutes of signing things and ignoring the paparazzi, Johnny steps forward, taps Richie on the shoulder and gestures to the car. Richie nods, looking slightly disappointed. He turns apologetically to the crowd again.

“Sorry guys! Gotta go!” He calls out loudly, waving happily and allowing Johnny to lead him away. 

The crowd goes nuts, surging forward and pressing against the barriers. The paparazzi are suddenly feral, screaming at him even louder. Johnny presses Richie’s head down slightly and speeds up.

Suddenly, Richie is darting out from under Johnny’s arm and sprinting at the crowd. Johnny, Daniel and Wendy all launch themselves after him, but he’s too fast. The Losers realise what he’s doing when they see the young girl being crushed against the barrier by the rabid crowd, her face bright red. Richie throws his upper body over the barrier, ignoring the fans now grabbing at him and catching the girl under the arms just as her knees buckle. The black-suited guys sprint away from the car into the airport. Richie straightens up again and Johnny heaves him back over the barrier with the kid in his arms. The guards shield the both of them from view and start running towards the car. The Losers see them coming and rush to make space for them. Richie is practically dragged into the car by the black-suited guys, still supporting the girl’s weight. Arnie speeds off as soon as the door is closed.

Richie lets the kid drop onto a free seat and sits down beside her.

“You okay, kiddo?”

“Uh…yeah, I think so”, then she seems to realises who’s speaking to her, because she squeaks and throws her hands over her mouth. 

“You sure you’re good? You almost passed out”, Bev asks her from the row of seats behind her.

The kid whips her head around and her eyes get even wider when she sees Bev.

“Beverly Marsh. You’re Beverly Marsh. That’s Richie Tozier and you’re Beverly Marsh. _Holy fuck!_ ” she exclaims.

“Are you even old enough to swear? How old are you? Everyone under thirty looks like a baby to me” Richie asks her.

“I’m nineteen, and I’m a huge fan. Of like half the people in this car apparently, is that Bill _fucking_ Denbrough?” She asks, pointing at Bill, who waves jauntily back at her.

“This s-seems unfair. You know u-us and we don’t k-know you yet” he comments.

“Oh, I’m Carrie...hi” she waves around the car. Everyone waves back except the black-suited guys.

“It’s nice to meet you Carrie, I’m Eddie. Are you feeling any pain anywhere? Your ribs maybe? Are you breathing okay? I have a spare inhaler if you need it” Eddie rambles.

“No, no. I’m all good now. It was just an anxiety attack, I think. Too many people, you know?” she replies, embarrassed.

“I don’t know, kiddo. You were getting squished like me under Eddie’s mom”, Richie tells her, unsure.

“…Is your mo-” Carrie starts.

“My mom was a great big fat person, yes”, Eddie confirms from where he’s taking her pulse with one hand and smacking Richie’s glasses off his face with the other.

“Oh, sorry for your loss”

“I’m not” Eddie responds, deadpan.

“I hope you didn’t drive here, Carrie”, Mike comments, looking out the window at the airport getting further and further away.

“Oh shit, I didn’t even think of that. Did I kidnap you?” Richie asks her, alarmed.

“No! No, It’s alright. I got an uber. Also I don’t mind the kidnapping part”

“You got an uber just to see me?” Richie asks her, pressing a hand to his chest.

“Uh, yeah. I couldn’t get tickets to your LA shows, so I thought I’d try and snag an autograph” Carrie pulls a sparkly autograph book out of her bag and holds it out to him hopefully.

He grins and takes it, flipping it open to an empty page and using his stolen pink sharpie to sign it with a flourish.

Eddie peeks at it and snorts in laughter, “My dearest Carrie, please don’t sue. Love from your kidnapper, Richie Tozier”, he reads aloud. The car erupts into laughter. Carrie turns and holds the book out to Bev, who takes it happily and signs a page of her own. When she moves to hand the book back, Carrie just turns to Bill with a smile. He smiles back at her and signs the book too. When Carrie takes the book back, she cradles it to her chest.

 _“Awesome_ ”, she breathes out, elated.

“Where can I drop you off, Carrie?” Arnie asks from the front seat.

“Oh… you can just pull over anywhere and I'll hop out”, Carrie replies.

“Don’t be silly! You could be injured”, Patty protests.

“I really think I’m fine. My moms are both doctors, so they can check me out when I get home” Carrie tells her.

“And where’s home?” Stan asks gently.

“Santa Monica”

“Cool, Arnie?” Richie asks.

“Setting a course for Santa Monica” the driver responds, passing his GPS to Carrie so she can input her address.

“Thank you”, Carrie replies in a small, shy voice.

“Don’t worry about it, kiddo” Richie reassures her.

***

After about twenty minutes of chatting to Carrie, they finding out a lot. She wants to be a writer, but prefers romance novels to horror, much to Bill’s dismay and Patty’s delight. She goes to UCLA but lives at home because rent is so high, Richie hums sympathetically at that. Her moms both wore wedding dresses from Bev’s bridal collection. When Bev asks to see photos, Carrie fishes her phone out of her front pocket, only to reveal a completely smashed screen.

“Shit, it must have broken against the barrier”, she whimpers, eyes filling with tears that she hastily wipes away.

“Oh, sweetheart. I’m so sorry” Bev hisses sympathetically.

“It’s okay. It’s just… I was working up to ask for a photo” She tells Richie, smiling sadly at him.

“Oh, is that all? Do you have Instagram?”, he asks her. When she nods, he continues, “So I can take photos and posts them on my Instagram and tag you! Then you can screenshot them when you get a phone!”

“You’d put me on your Instagram?” Carrie asks excitedly.

“Yeah, why not?” Richie asks flippantly.

“You’ve got, like, four million followers!” She exclaims.

“You’ve got fucking _what?_ ” Eddie asks incredulously.

“Three-point-nine, but who’s counting?” Richie hands his phone to Carrie and has her type in her Instagram handle. She hands the phone back to him and he immediately taps the _‘follow’_ button.

“Richie Tozier just followed me on Instagram” She mumbles, staring at the phone, dumbfounded.

“Sure did. Say cheese!” Richie holds his phone up and opens the selfie camera. He takes a few silly photos of Carrie and himself grinning widely with their heads pressed together, then one of what he calls _‘The Tyra’_ , where they smoulder at the camera with serious expressions. It’s a look the Losers are shocked to see him pull off. He takes a few group shots of them all, and finally one of Bev hugging Carrie over the back of her seat to show off to her parents. They finally pull up outside a pretty, well-maintained house with a huge flower patch out front. Richie hops out and holds the car door open for Carrie. He hugs her tightly and waits for her to unlock the door before he gets back in the car. Even then, he sticks his upper body out the sunroof to wave enthusiastically at her as the car pulls away. Eddie clings to his legs the whole time, spouting off statistics about sunroof injuries that Mike refuses to believe are real until Eddie pulls up an article on google. Richie finally drops back into his seat and leans forward to talk to Arnie.

“You still got her address?” He asks, tapping away at his phone.

“Yeah, boss” Arnie hands the GPS to Richie.

“What are you doing?” Eddie asks, trying to peek at his phone screen.

“Sending her a new phone” Richie tells him, oblivious to the incredulous looks his friends are sending him. 

* * *

**Richie Tozier** ✓ @TRASHMOUTH •

My first kidnapping went super well! Coming to a dark alleyway near you soon!

@Carrie.White @Edward_Kaspbrak @RealBillDenbrough @MarshDesigns @MikeHanlon125 @Hanscombe.Ben @StanPattyUris.

Image Description: Richie and the Losers pulling faces at the camera, with Carrie right in the middle.

5,789,321 likes

340,000 comments

Comments

 **Carrie Met Richie** @Carrie.White

Signed in on my laptop (ew) just to thank you again. Saved my life, signed my autograph book and dropped me home right after. 10/10 would be a kidnapee again <3 P.s, tell Mr Kaspbrak I got a clean bill of health from Dr & Dr White.

-

 **Annie Tozier** @Notice-me-senpai

WHAT THE FUCK DO I HAVE TO DO FOR YOU TO KIDNAP MEEEEE?!?!

-

 **ScareMeDaddy** @WhorrorMovie

Is that Bill Denbrough? Since when are they friends?

 **DeadMeme** @Andy230

@WhorrorMovie Yeah, pretty sure that’s Beverly Marsh too. The fashion designer!

**ScareMeDaddy** @WhorrorMovie

@Andy230 I don’t know who that is. I’m not really into fashion. I’m not like other girls.

**DeadMeme** @Andy230

@WhorrorMovie iM nOT LikE oTHeR GirLS


	3. Trouble in Paradise?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie gets home, but there's someone waiting for him. Shit gets heavy. Hugs are had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this chapter started off really light-hearted, I even tried a little twitter thread because I'm down with the youth, then I had a shitty few days. So It gets a little weird. Might delete it all and rewrite it after a few days, who knows. It's also super long for me? Like I just realised? Whoops. Sorry.
> 
> Trigger warning for drug use and slight violence.

**UglyWhiteMenPeopleFindHot** @UglyWhiteDudes •

Number 108: Richie Tozier.

Dude looks like the creepy uncle offering alcohol to all the underage girls at a birthday party.

**126 Retweets 2.5K Replies 5.2K Likes**

**-**

**TrashBaby.** @GageG1999

_Replying to @UglyWhiteDudes_

Imma give u three seconds to take this back.

**-**

**FreShaVocaDOO.** @Sariah33976

_Replying to @UglyWhiteDudes_

Sorry, couldn't read your tweet. I was too busy mMmMmBLOCKIN OUT THE HATERS.

-

 **YeetMeIn2TheSun**. @RocketMan666

_Replying to @UglyWhiteDudes_

They said "Richie's ugly", I said BITCH WHERE?! 

**SpoopyDoopyDoo**. @SpoopyDoopy1997

_Replying to @UglyWhiteDudes_

Are we talking about the same man? This man? Is this the man?

-

 **NebrasGal <3**. @GoCornhuskers886

_Replying to @SpoopyDoopy1997 and @UglyWhiteDudes_

_Literally anyone can look good with professional lighting and cameras. The red carpet don't lie tho. #5Head_

**HortonHearsABitch.** @WhoretonHoo

_Replying to @GoCornhuskers <3, @SpoopyDoopy1997 and @UglyWhiteDudes_

Wait... is that supposed to be an ugly pic? R U Ok sis? All that incest down in Nebraska fried your brain, huh?

 **SpoopyDoopyDoo.** @SpoopyDoopy1997

_Replying to @WhoretonHoo, @GoCornhuskers <3 and 2 Others._

No, that's Alabama.

 **Richie'PukesOnstage'Tozier ✓** @OfficiallyTrashmouth

_Replying to @SpoopyDoo1997, @WhoretonHoo and 2 Others._

No, this is Patrick.

 **HortonHearsABitch.** @WhoretonHoo

_Replying to @OfficiallyTrashmouth, @SpoopyDoo1997 and 2 Others._

AJKSHQDKJXLG SIR THIS IS A CHILLI'S PARKING LOT!

* * *

"Uh, Rich?"

Richie's head snaps up from his phone and turns around to look at Bill sitting stiffly in the back row of the SUV. Richie follows his nervous gaze to where one of the black-suited guys is sitting in the passenger seat beside Arnie, who was talking animatedly to him despite the stone-faced lack of response. 

"You good, Big Bill?" Richie asks. 

"Yeah, I just... _Who the fuck is that guy? And where's the other one?"_ Bill whispers back. 

"Oh, that's Alan. He's one of my bodyguards", Richie tells him, as if he's talking about the weather.

"You have bodyguards?" Mike asks.

"Yup, my manager hired them after I got some weirdly intense fan mail", Richie explains.

"How weird?" Bev asks, leaning eagerly over the back of Richie's chair.

"You know, usual stuff. _"We're going to be together forever"_ , _"I'll rip your throat out with my teeth", "I have some incriminating pics of you, wire three million dollars to this account by noon or else"_. Run of the mill shit, really" Richie tells her, using three different Voices for effect.

"Jesus fucking Christ!" Ben exclaims, disgusted and turning a little green.

"I once got a letter from a guy asking me to make a dress out of his skin so he could try to win his ex-girlfriend back", Bev replies, nodding at Richie in understanding.

The car is silent as the grave for a second before Bill speaks again. 

"Can I use that in my next book?"

The Losers crack up, exploding into giggles. Alan the bodyguard looks back at them, looking Richie up and down until he's satisfied that he's still in one piece, then faces forward again. 

"He seems a little...serious", Patty comments. 

"Yeah, he and Ted are _not_ happy that I managed to sneak off to Derry without them", Richie grimaces. 

"Ted's the other one?" Stan asks.

"Yeah, take a look out the back window and you should see him right behind us in a backup SUV", Richie gestures toward the back window.

The Losers all crane their necks to try and see. Directly behind them is a black SUV identical to the one they're all riding in. It's close enough to their bumper that they can see Ted in the driver's seat, serious expression mirroring Alan's.

"Why the fuck do we need a backup car?" Eddie asks, turning incredulous eyes back to Richie.

"Beats me, Spaghetti. Maybe they're planning for some John Wickian bullshit"

"It's in case we need to split you up, or this car is attacked or breaks down or so we can mislead the paparazzi by taking two different routes if necessary, Mr Tozier" Alan informs them, as if it isn't a terrifying idea.

" _Attacked?!_ Who the fuck is going to attack us?!" Eddie shrieks at Alan, who doesn't respond. 

"The Russian gangsters who murdered my dog and stole my car, obviously", Richie replies in a tone of voice that implies _Eddie_ is the dumb one.

"Shut the fuck up Keanu Sleaze", Eddie snarks back at him.

"Do you even have a dog?" Ben asks.

"Yeah!" Richie exclaims excitedly, unlocking his phone again and swiping through it to find pictures, "She's a rescue Pomeranian. She's called Holly. Well, she's called Buddy Holly, but once I found out she was a girl she started going by Holly, unless she pisses on the carpet, then she's Buddy Holly Tozier"

"You full-name your dog like a mad mom?" Patty asks, in a tone of voice that makes it clear how cute she finds the whole scenario.

"You bet your ass I do, Pattycakes! She knows better. I raised her with manners", Richie responds seriously, finally selecting the cutest picture and passing his phone back for her to see. She lets out a squeal immediately. Stan peeks over her shoulder and snorts out a laugh. 

"Is she dressed as Paddington Bear?" he asks.

"Yes! It was her Halloween costume!" Richie replies, grinning widely.

Stan smiles back, shaking his head indulgently. Patty turns the phone around to show the rest of the Losers. 

"Oh my God. Richie, if I don't meet this dog in the next ten minutes, I swear I'm going to lose my shit", Ben tells the comedian seriously, reaching out to take the phone from Patty to take a closer look.

"What's our ETA, Arnie?" Richie asks the driver.

"Uh... about twenty-five minutes in this traffic, boss", Arnie replies after a quick glance at his GPS.

"Will her Instagram tide you over for a while?" Richie bargains with Ben, holding his hand out for his phone. 

Ben considers him for a second, eyes narrowing as he looks between Richie and the photo of Holly.

"Are there more pictures of her in costume?" he asks.

"Ben, she has a whole dress-up box at my house. What does that tell you?" Richie asks in a faux-exasperated tone.

"You've got yourself a deal" Ben hands Richie back his phone, then accepts it again a moment later, holding it up high so Patty can see as he scrolls though the photos.

Bev, glances out the window and realises what part of Los Angeles they're driving through. 

"Rich? Where the hell do you live?" She asks him.

"Beverly Hills,why?" He replies. 

"I just... wasn't expecting it. I thought you'd be in a suburb or something", She tells him, trying to keep her face neutral and not betray her shock.

"Nah, too long of a commute for me. It's easier to get to the studios for auditions and shit from where I am" He says with a shrug. 

It's not too much longer before they're winding up through Beverly Hills, then they stop at a gate with a guard box. Alan turns around to address the group again while Arnie lowers his window to talk to one of the guards. 

"Alright folks, I'm gonna' need some identification from each of you. Guards need to make a copy before we can go in"

The Losers look to Richie for guidance, then start digging around in pockets and wallets when he nods for them to comply. Once Arnie's handed all the IDs over, Stan turns to Richie.

"You live in a gated community? Swanky" he asks, clearly impressed and trying not to show it.

"Uh... actually, this is just my gate", Richie replies bashfully, running a nervous hand through his hair.

Stan looks out the windshield at the huge driveway behind the gate, stretching way off into the distance behind a copse of trees. He stares Richie right in the face, trying to find some hint of a joke on his face. When he doesn't find one, he just presses his knuckles to his eyes and sighs heavily. Richie snorts at him while Patty rubs his back sympathetically. The guard comes back and returns their identification through Arnie's window. The gate rumbles open slowly and they continue on. The driveway is so long that it takes them another five minutes to burst through the trees and get a glimpse of the house.

Not that any of the Losers would call it a house. 

"I don't... I can't...Richie, _what_?" Eddie stammers as he stares out the window at the behemoth of a mansion in front of them. It was easily three stories high and extremely modern. Made of wood and glass all pressed together at right angles, but softened by the tightly packed trees surrounding it. The driveway split into three, with one fork leading to the front door, a second leading underneath the house to what looked like a parking garage and the final one leading to a huge swimming pool. 

"I think I broke Eddie!" Richie gleefully declares to the other Losers. 

Eddie just drops his forehead into his hands and groans, "I'm going to have a fucking breakdown".

"The murder clown didn't break you but a house will?" Bev teases him.

 _"Murder clown!?"_ Arnie exclaims, head swivelling around to stare at Bev questioningly.

"Hey! No eavesdropping, Arnie! If I was even a little bit more of a diva you'd be so fired right now", Richie snaps playfully, but with a sharp undertone that makes it clear he isn't totally kidding. 

"Yes, sorry Sir" Arnie responds, suitably cowed as they carry on towards the garage. 

"So Eds," Richie starts, turning back to the Losers, all smiles again, earlier snappishness seemingly forgotten, "What were you expecting? A shack? An RV? My parents basement?"

"A normal fucking house, asshole!" Eddie protests.

"If it's got four walls and a roof then it's a house, Spaghetti", Richie argues.

"B-ben, professional opi-pinion?" Bill asks, hoping to stop the bickering before it _really_ gets going.

Ben stares out the window, studying the huge house with a thoughtful expression before he speaks, "How many bedrooms did you say it had?"

"Six", Richie replies.

"Bathrooms?" Ben asks.

"...Sixteen", Richie responds reluctantly, knowing how it goes against his case.

"Sixteen?! Who the fuck needs sixteen bathrooms?" Stan questions incredulously. 

"Listen, I was on a lot of coke when I bought this place. More bathrooms means more sinks to snort lines off!" Richie tries to justify himself.

The Losers reactions range from Eddie's horrified glare, to Ben's disbelieving little laugh right to Bill nodding as if it's understandable.

"I'm sanitising every fucking surface in this house", Eddie grumbles. 

"No need, I had a cleaning service swing by this morning", Richie tells him.

"That's... weirdly thoughtful", Eddie replies, fighting the smile curling the corners of his mouth. 

"Yeah, yeah. I wanted you to be relaxed, not bleaching the couch before you'd even sit down", Richie ruffles Eddie's hair to try and distract from his own blush.

"Thanks, Rich", Eddie says softly, not even bothering to tell him off.

"You're welcome, Spaghetti", Richie mumbles back, uncharacteristically bashful.

Stan and Patty exchange a meaningful glance, before Ben takes it upon himself to interrupt the moment and continue his evaluation of the house.

"You own the land around it?" he asks.

"Uh, yeah three and a half acres, give or take" Richie jumps and looks away from Eddie to reply, as if he'd forgotten Ben was there.

"You own three and a half acres of Los Angeles?", Patty asks.

"Yeah, I guess so", Richie shrugs.

"You own zero point zero zero one percent of Los Angles", Stan breathes out. 

"Did you just fucking work that out in your head?" Richie exclaims in awe, as if the idea of Stan's mental mathematics was more remarkable than his ownership of a part of one of the most famous and expensive cities in the world.

"I'm an accountant. We can't all make a living telling shitty jokes", Stan snarks at him.

"...do you think you could get me out of paying my taxes?" Richie asks in a way that makes it unclear if he's kidding or not.

"No! I can't get you out of...Well, actually I probably could. But I wont!" Stan protests. 

"You're no fun. You and Patty are getting the smallest bedroom", Richie points an accusatory finger at him.

"In this house? Still probably bigger than our bedroom at home." Patty comments glibly, deflating Richie, who huffs in playful annoyance that his threat didn't stick.

The car finally pulls into the parking garage under the house, it turns out to be a huge space with easily thirty spaces. Roughly half of them are full of vehicles of all types. Sports cars, a hummer and even a few motorcycles, much to Eddie's displeasure. 

"Oh look, this is huge too. Don't you dare make a fucking dick joke, Richard!" Stan tells him sternly, causing Richie to hold his hands up in surrender and the whole car to burst out in laughter.

"Uh, Boss? We might have a problem here" Arnie's voice cuts through the laughter.

Richie follows Arnie's eye line and his whole face falls when he sees a flashy yellow sports car parked among about four other similar looking cars. 

"What the fuck is he doing here?" Richie groans. 

"That's not one of yours?", Mike asks. 

"That hunk of junk? No way, Mikey" Richie tells him, voice laced with venom.

"Looks like a nice car to me", Mike replies, slightly awkwardly.

"Nah, it's all show and no substance, just like it's driver", Richie growls.

"Wow, tell us how you really feel, Rich", Ben jokes, trying to lift the steadily dropping mood. 

"Stay in the car, guys. Alan, let's go find out what the fuck is going on", Richie orders, clearly not in the mood for jokes. 

Alan gets out, opens the door for Richie and then they're gone. The Losers stay in place, slightly shell shocked at Richie's seriousness and the anger they could see bubbling barely under the surface. 

"W-what the fuck was t-that?" Bill stutters, looking at the Losers one by one, searching for an answer that none of them have. 

"I've never seen him that angry", Ben replies, clearly worried. 

"I didn't even think he could _get_ that angry", Eddie says, staring off in the direction Richie had gone.

"What about the time Bill punched him in the face?" Bev asks.

Bill, Stan, Mike and Ben all let out a little _"oh!"_ of shared recognition as they remember the incident. Eddie is clueless. Patty too, but she's been lost for a lot of the conversations so far, so she doesn't particularly mind. 

"Am I missing something? When the fuck did you punch Richie?" he asks.

"After your mom took you to the hospital", Stan tells him.

Eddie raises a sarcastic eyebrow at him, "You want to narrow that down a little more for me?".

"Uh, Neibolt. The first time, I mean. When you broke your arm?" Stan tells him, glancing cautiously at Arnie and trying not to give too much away. Recognition dawns across Eddie's features before he snaps to look at Bill, horrified.

"You punched him?! What the fuck Bill?!" Eddie explodes furiously, thumping Bill on the arm. 

Stan and Patty exchange yet another significant look as Bill yelps. The door opens abruptly again and Ted jumps into the recently vacated passenger seat. 

"Ya'll alright in here? I heard a holler", He asks, scanning the car for any sign of danger. 

"Nope, all good. Just rehashing a twenty-seven year old fight", Bev tells him with a beatific smile.

"Right. Sure thing" he doesn't seem convinced.

"Hey! Do you know why that yellow car got Richie so worked up?" Patty asks him. 

Ted frowns uncertainly at them, then looks at the car with clear disdain. "Not my place to say, but I'm sure it'll be gone soon" 

Patty opens her mouth to speak again, but Ted holds a hand up to quieten her (though his face is apologetic) then presses his other hand against an earpiece the Losers hadn't even noticed. 

_"Garbageman Two, readin' you. What's up?...Uh huh, I saw Dickhole's car, how are we handlin' this?... Can do. let Betty White know his Losers'll be on the move in a second"_

The Losers, upon hearing their collective moniker, perk up a little more. Ted turns to address them again. 

"We're movin', everyone out", his tone leaves no room for argument, so the Losers all scramble out of the car. Ted immediately starts to guide them away. 

"Wait, what about our bags?" Eddie asks. 

"They're split between both cars. Don't worry, someone'll bring 'em up later" Ted tells him, without stopping. 

They don't make it far before Richie comes storming around the corner, baseball bat in hand. Ted tries to step out in front of him, but Richie just points the bat threateningly at him for a second and the bodyguard backs down. Ted motions for the Losers to take a few steps back, shaking his head firmly at Bill and Mike when it looks like they're about to try to step in. Alan comes around the corner a second later, looking resigned to what's about to happen. Richie makes a beeline for the yellow sports car, raises the bat high above his head, and brings it down on the windshield. He barely flinches when it explodes into a million tiny pieces, coating the hood, the front seats and the concrete floor. There's even glass glittering in Richie's hair.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

The Losers turn as a unit to see another man come sprinting around the corner. The guy is huge, with easily three inches on Richie and arms like tree trunks. He's wearing flashy clothing, along with an expensive watch and sunglasses. He's gorgeous in a very traditionally masculine way, strong jaw dusted in stubble, hair artfully tousled, leather jacket stretched across his shoulders. The look is ruined by the sheer fury marring his features. He and Richie just stare at each other for a second. The Losers are shocked to see similar fury on the comedian's face. 

Richie raises the bat again and the new guy lunges for him. Before he manages even two steps, Ted has him pinned on the ground while he thrashes like a trapped animal. Richie swings the bat again and puts a serious dent in the hood. 

"BABE! STOP!" The guy screams.

"DON'T FUCKING CALL ME THAT!" Richie howls, twisting to face the new guy, hate written all over his face and tears gathering in the corners of his eyes.

"WHY?! WHAT ARE YOU SO AFRAID OF? THIS IS WHAT RUINED US, RICHIE! YOU'RE TOO ASHAMED OF WHO YOU ARE. I COULDN'T BE YOUR DIRTY LITTLE SECRET ANYMORE!" the guy screams back.

Richie freezes and his face crumbles for a second, eyes flitting to the Losers, Eddie is horrified to see that he looks more scared in that moment than he had the whole time they were in Derry. He meets Eddie's eyes for a split second before he shrieks in anger and lunges for the guy, bat still in hand. Alan steps forward and plants his shoulder in Richie's stomach, lifting him clear off the ground and carrying him back the way they'd come. Richie launches the baseball bat behind Alan's back, but Ted catches it one handed and shakes his head sternly at the comedian. Once Richie and Alan are out of sight, Ted heaves the newcomer off the ground and shoves him towards his ruined yellow car. The guy tries to get around Ted and follow Richie, but he finds himself shoved up against his own car. 

"Let's get one thing straight, Roland. Ya'll got 'ruined' 'cause you cheated on him. Publicly. And you were dumb enough to get papped doin' it, so there's proof", the bodyguard hisses.

"Well, not like I could get papped with Richie, is it? Fucking closet-case", Roland replies petulantly.

"Get in your car. Fuck off. Don't come back." Ted snarls, opening the car door and shoving Roland in, ignoring the other man's pained yell when he sits on the broken glass. He slams the door again and glares at Roland until he starts the car and throws it in reverse, almost hitting Mike. As soon as the car moves, Ted calls out to Arnie.

"Arnie! Follow him to the gate, make sure he leaves and remind the guards that he should be on the blacklist"

The driver nods and pulls out of the garage.

Ted turns back to the Losers, unsure of what to do. He steels himself and starts leading them in the direction Richie and Alan had gone. 

"Watch your step, there's glass" he warns them unnecessarily. 

***

Ted leads them up a staircase and into the main house. It's gorgeous, open plan and minimalist, all clean white walls and uncomfortable looking furniture, which doesn't feel like Richie's style. It seems like the comedian has managed to pepper in little bits of his personality though. Despite how worried Eddie is about Richie, he can't help but smile when he spots a familiar blanket draped over the arm of a huge couch that probably cost more than Eddie makes in a year. The blanket is ratty and threadbare, but it's definitely the same one that Eddie and Richie used to top off their blanket forts with when they were little. He's got a vague memory of choosing it because the bright patchwork pattern looked like a flag to their little brains. 

"Should we go talk to him?" Mike asks the group.

"Who, Richie? Nah, best y'all let him simmer down some. Alan'll keep him company", Ted reassures them.

"I lost him!" Alan exclaims, power walking into the room with what Richie would call _'outstanding comedic timing'_ if he wasn't currently lost in his own house.

"You... lost him?" Ted asks, in a resigned tone that makes it clear to the Losers that it isn't the first time.

"Don't take that tone with me, it's a big house", again, the losers get the feeling this isn't the first time Alan's said those words. 

"Should we split up and check the bathrooms?" Patty asks, genuinely trying to help. Stan snorts and has to hide a grin behind his hand.

"Bathrooms!" Ted gasps, pointing at Patty before turning back to Alan, "When's the last time we did a drug sweep?"

"Drug sweep?!" Eddie yelps.

"I thought he was kidding about the cocaine thing" Ben says, looking like a kicked puppy.

"He's clean, 'least he was before he ran off to wherever the fuck y'all were" Ted tells them, reaching into his pocket and fishing out a smartphone. He starts tapping away at the screen.

"He got his ninety day chip about two weeks back" Alan explains.

"Al, call the front gate, he could be runnin' again. I'm gonna' check the cameras" Ted orders.

"There are cameras? Are there cameras in the bathrooms? Is that a fucking landline?" Eddie asks in a high pitched, rapid-fire voice.

"Yup, we keep a landline in each room, plus a couple'a satellite phones scattered around in case someone manages to scramble the cell signal or cut the telephone wires. Gotta' have contingencies, ya'know?" Ted replies absently, still tapping at his phone. 

Eddie nodded, even though he didn't know. He chose not to call attention to the lack of a response about the bathroom cameras. He's distracted from his spiralling by Alan's voice, clearly talking to the gate guards. 

_"Yeah, Garbageman One here... Alan. Jesus, try and stick to the code-names, how many times?... Were concerned Betty White may be on the move. Keep an eye out, alright?"_

Stan, who'd just gotten his giggles under control, cracks up again upon realising that _'Betty White'_ is Richie. Bev elbows him in the side and jerks her chin towards Ben, who still looks devastated. 

"You okay, Ben?" Stan asks, rubbing at his now-sore ribs.

"I laughed at the cocaine thing. I feel bad for laughing about something he's struggling with", Ben laments, Bev coos and reaches out to grab his hand.

"It's okay, man. We all laughed" Eddie tries to reassure him.

"Plus, half of Richie's set is about drugs, so I'm pretty sure he'd be okay with us laughing", Mike adds. 

"He's in the library bathroom", Ted declares suddenly, turning his phone screen towards Alan. 

"There are cameras in the bathroom!" Eddie gasps, vindicated and horrified. 

"Yeah, at Richie's request though", Alan confirms.

"Is it a s-sex thing? I b-bet it's a s-sex thing" Bill hypothesises gleefully.

"I'm just surprised he has a library, honestly" Stan snipes back. 

"Nah, he wanted to make it harder for him to use in the bathrooms. He doesn't trust himself yet". Ted tells them harshly, glaring a little bit.

Bill frowns, guilt settling in his stomach as Stan looks slightly ashamed. Ben looks vaguely green, still uneasy about laughing at Richie's cocaine comment.

"For good reason too" Alan mumbles, before he takes off running. Ted glances back at the phone screen for a second before he drops it and runs after his colleague. The Losers glance down at the phone, laying screen-up on the floor. On it, they see a crystal clear image of Richie perched on a closed toilet lid, racking up a neat little line of white powder on the sink. They all turn tail and dash after the bodyguards, having to trust the sound of their thundering footsteps to guide them through the huge house. 

***

Richie doesn't snort the line right away. He keeps finding reasons to stall. First he has to unscrew the ceiling light and pull the little baggie out from where he's taped it inside the light fitting. Then he wipes the counter down with a wet wipe, thinking about how proud Eddie would be. Then he tips out some of the coke and pulls his credit card out to push it into a neat little line. Finally, because he's a cliche, he takes out a dollar bill and rolls it up. Right as he brings one end to his nose and moves to lower the other to the counter, he hears the library doors get thrown open and bash against the walls. He jumps hard enough to dislodge his dollar. 

"Richie. I'm gonna' have to ask you to come out of the bathroom", Ted calls gently through the door, as if he's talking to an easily spooked horse.

Richie stays silent.

"Mr Tozier" oh, Alan only calls him that when he's in trouble, "I don't want to break this door down, but I will"

Richie stays silent, but puts the dollar back in his nose. He presses his other nostril closed and leans down to the counter again. If Alan's going to be mad at him either way, he may as well be high when he has to listen to the inevitable lecture. 

"RICHARD WENTWORTH TOZIER! Don't. You. Dare", a furious, familiar voice hisses through the door. 

"Eds?" Richie asks, honestly having forgotten that the Losers were there for a second.

"Don't you _'Eds'_ me, you asshole. Do you know how dangerous cocaine is? You have no idea what's actually in there. They cut that shit with fucking rat poison! Rat poison Richie! You might look like a rat and smell like a rat, but that doesn't mean you have to die like one, you idiot. And you're gonna' do it in the bathroom?! The filthiest room in the whole house? Seriously Richie?" Eddie rambles, voice getting quicker and higher as he rants.

"I wiped the sink down", Richie grumbles, unsure if he's really trying to defend himself.

"You...what?"

"I used an antibacterial wet wipe"

"Right... well, I'm proud of you for owning antibacterial wipes, but I don't trust your technique. Let me in so I can double check it", he wheedles. Richie tries to ignore the warm feeling in the pit of his stomach from hearing Eddie praise him.

He puts his dollar down, crosses the room and unlocks the door. Eddie is stood right on the other side, as if he had been pressed up against the wood. He is flanked by Alan and Ted. Richie tries not to be hurt by how Eddie's eyes go immediately to his nose, then to the counter behind him, shoulders dropping in relief when he sees the crisp white line still laying there. The two friends stare at each other for a second longer before Eddie reels back and slugs Richie in the shoulder. 

"Ow! What the hell,Eds!" Richie whines.

"Don't call me that" Eddie grumbles, pulling Richie into a tight hug. 

Richie hunches over to bury his face in Eddie's neck, somehow managing to feel small in the tiny hypochondriac's arms. He barely notices Alan edging around them until he hears the sound of the toilet flushing away his stash. 

_"M'sorry"_ he mumbles against Eddie's skin.

"What for?" Eddie asks.

"Fucking up. Getting angry. M'not sorry for smashing up the car though", Richie replies, hint of pride in his tone.

"Yeah, you did Britney Spears proud there... Your ex seems like a prick", Eddie feigns nonchalance, but Richie can hear the anger he's trying to tamp down.

Richie tenses up at the mention of his ex-boyfriend. He tries to pull back from the hug but Eddie just holds him tighter.

"It's okay, Rich. I don't care that you like guys. Even if you seem to have shitty taste. And if any of the others do then I'll fight them with my bare hands", Eddie vows.

"Even Ben?"

"Fuck no, I'll get one of your bodyguards to fight Ben" Eddie jokes, smiling when Richie sobs out a wet little laugh.

"Can this be a group hug? Please?" Ben calls from behind them, he's visibly vibrating with the effort of restraining himself from jumping right in. 

"Rich?" Eddie is clearly deferring to Richie's comfort level and the comedian loves him for it. 

Richie can hardly bring himself to release Eddie with one arm to reach for Ben, who moves faster than Richie has ever seen and envelops them both in his huge arms. 

_"I'm sorry for laughing about your cocaine joke in the car"_ Ben whispers into Richie's hair.

"Don't be, someone has to laugh at my jokes" Richie quips.

"God knows I'm not going to" Eddie snarks, the perfect image of put-upon.

After another second of letting Ben get it out of his system, the rest of the Losers pile into the group hug. Patty hesitates for a second before squeezing herself between Stan and Mike. 

"Alan, Ted, if you don't get in here then you're fired", Richie threatens playfully.

Ted needs no further prompting, patting Richie affectionately on the shoulder before looping his arms around Ben and Bill. 

"No can do, it's unprofessional" Alan protests, his tone definite.

"You call yourself a bodyguard? At least an inch of my body is exposed right now. What if there's a sniper? Come be my human shield, Alan!" Richie demands, stomping his foot for effect, but the effect is slightly ruined because he's still refusing to lift his head from the crook of Eddie's neck. Alan sighs heavily and joins in, finding a spot between Patty and Mike. They all stand there for a second, basking in the comfort, before Richie ruins it. 

"Should we get naked? I feel like this is leading up to nudity"

The hug immediately disbands, but Eddie links his pinkie finger with Richie's. 

Stan and Patty exchange a significant glance, feeling like they should start keeping a list.


	4. Nuggets, shorts, foreskin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is an homage to how much I've been craving McDonalds while in lockdown. I just want nuggets. Also some romance or whatever.

“Phew, alright kids, I think that’s enough emotions for one night. Bedtime?” Richie declares in the slightly uncomfortable silence of the overly full bathroom. His obnoxious fake yawn is cut off by the rumbling of his own stomach.

“Dinnertime?” Eddie asks, grinning at Richie’s sheepish expression.

“Is it bad that I really want to eat McDonalds in this ridiculously fancy house?” Ben asks, voice quiet and eyes fixed on the huge marble shower in the corner. Who needs a shower in a library bathroom, never mind one this luxurious?

“The juxtaposition”, Bill agrees, nodding sagely. 

“HOLD UP!” Richie’s outburst launches the Losers a few inches into the air in shock, the bodyguards don’t move, clearly used to it. “Michael, Mike, Mikey, Bicheal, Bicycle. There’s no McDonalds in Derry”. The grave declaration is met with puzzled looks for a second before understanding dawns across Bev’s face.

“Oh my God! Mike, have you never had McDonalds?” she asks, incredulous. Mike just frowns thoughtfully and shakes his head, confirming their suspicion.

Surprisingly, it’s Eddie who pipes up, “So we’re ordering the whole menu, right?”

“Already on it”, Ben replies, holding up his phone, showing them all his UberEats app. The room is immediately filled with the chatter of the Losers all suggesting their own favourites as Mike’s first McDonalds experience, Richie and Bill are arguing about the pros and cons of dipping fries into milkshake, Stan and Patty are explaining that McDonalds isn’t kosher and that they’ll probably order from somewhere else, Eddie is looking up the low-calorie options until Bev notices and gently takes his phone away, Ben is tapping rapidly on his phone to keep up with the demands and Mike is looking extremely overwhelmed, but ecstatic to be in the middle of it all.

“Okay, so we’re all in agreement that the fillet-o-fish can go fuck itself, but we all have to have at least ten nuggets, right?” Richie asks, cutting through the noise. The Losers all agree enthusiastically and Ben adds an obscene amount of chicken nuggets to the order. Mike peeks over Ben’s shoulder to peruse his options and the noise starts up again. Richie turns to the silent shadows at the outskirts of the huddle, “Alan, you’re Jewish, right? Anywhere good around here for Patty and Stan?” he asks. The bodyguard cracks a smile and pulls out his own phone, already gushing about this little hole in the wall deli about twenty minutes away. Once they’ve decided on their orders, Richie passes Alan a credit card (ignoring Stan and Patty’s protests) and tells him to place their order and get his own usual too. He offers Ted the same thing, but the other man is more interested in joining in the McDonalds feast, so Richie yells out for more nuggets and calls it a day.

About ten minutes later, Ben finally finishes their order and confirms to the employee who calls him almost immediately after that they aren’t pulling a prank and really do want four hundred dollars’ worth of fast food.

“Alright, game plan! We all head to our rooms, change into our jim-jams and have a chicken nugget slumber party!” Richie declares.

“Will we need a map to find our rooms?” Eddie snarks.

Richie throws an easy arm around his shoulders, “Eddie Spaghetti, I’ll escort you there personally!”

He leads him out of the room and the others follow. Patty nudges Stan and gestures to them subtly so they can revel in yet another knowing glance. 

They leave the library and traipse through the house as a group with Richie in the lead, pointing at closed doors and claiming that they lead to increasingly ridiculous rooms. Second library, indoor pool, movie theatre, petting zoo, dining room specifically for Christmas. The throws the doors open a few times, as if he’s proving a point, and they learn that there really is a room with a long dining table fully decked out in tinsel and baubles. Richie doesn’t offer any further explanation for that one. The Losers trickle off as Richie shows them to their bedrooms (all plush and comfortable-looking with huge beds) until only Richie, Eddie and the bodyguards are left. Richie opens the door to Eddie’s room with a grand flourish and a deep bow, so dramatic that Eddie can’t suppress a snort as he moves into the room. He’s a little surprised to see that his bed is completely unmade, unlike every other bedroom they’d seen. When he turns to ask Richie why everyone else got a turn down service, he finds the other man searching through a closet in the corner. He pulls down three bundles of fabric and lays them out on the bed.

“I- um, I wasn’t sure what you’d want so I made a couple calls from the airport in Bangor”, he says, still not looking at Eddie. He points to what Eddie now realises are bedding sets, “This one’s brand new, this one’s new but it’s been dry cleaned too and this one is new but I had Sarah, my housekeeper, get some hypoallergenic stuff and wash it here”, When Eddie doesn’t immediately answer, he just keeps talking, “And I wasn’t sure if you’d want anyone else making the bed for you so I just had her leave it like this, but I can make it for you? Or call her? She’s in her room but she won’t mind, I was gonna send her up some food anyway”, he jerks his thumb over his shoulder and starts to turn as if he’s going to leave to get the housekeeper.

“No! No, Richie, it’s totally fine, I can do it”, Eddie tells him, reaching out to brush the very tips of his fingers over one of the sheets. Soft, clearly a high thread count, probably astronomically expensive. Myra always insisted on silk sheets, claiming they were good for your skin, but they just left Eddie sweaty and feeling like he was being swaddled in a huge pair of panties. The soft cotton was much more to his taste.

“Are you sure these are okay? I can send for something else?”, Richie’s already reaching for his phone, so Eddie just grabs his wrist and squeezes gently. Their eyes meet for a second before Richie’s eyes flicker down to look at where Eddie’s fingers are pressed against the delicate skin of his bare wrist. When Eddie, thinking Richie doesn’t want the contact, moves to pull away, Richie acts on instinct and tangles their fingers together to keep him there.

So Eddie stands there, fingers laced with the best friend he hadn’t even known he was missing. The man he’d mourned like a missing limb without even realising he should be there. The man who had a chunk taken out of his arm when he put himself between Eddie and a fucking killer clown. The man who bought three sets of bedding for him just to make sure he’d be comfortable. And Eddie kisses him.

Or he would have, had Alan not knocked on the door just as he started to lean in towards Richie’s shocked face.

“Richie? Food’s at the gate, you’ve got five minutes, tops”, the bodyguard calls out, bursting the little bubble Eddie had trapped himself in without even realising. He jerks back and watches colour bleed into Richie’s cheeks to match the heat rising in his own.

“Eds-”, Richie’s voice is small and breathy. Eddie can’t tell if it’s filled with pity or not, so he just turns to where his luggage is resting in the corner and starts digging through a case for his pyjamas.

“I should get changed”, he announces to the room, trying to put off the inevitable rejection.

“…Oh, yeah. Okay. I’ll… I’ll get Alan to show you where we’re eating when you’re ready”, Richie tells him. I might be wishful thinking, but Eddie thinks he sounds a little disappointed.

“Sure thing”, he shoots back in the nonchalant tone he’d perfected after years of having to sneak anything with more sugar than a granola bar passed Myra. Richie clearly takes it as dismissal, because Eddie hears the door open and close again as he leaves.

Eddie just keeps searching for his pyjamas, aggressively tossing things out of his case, not sure if he’s angry at himself or Richie. He has no right to be mad at Richie though, does he? He’s fucking furious at himself, he finds out Richie likes men and tries to jump his fucking bones like ten minutes later? What the fuck, Kaspbrak? Richie wasn’t in the right state of mind for that shit right now, he’d been outed to his friends, attacked by his shitty ex and almost relapsed in the span of a day. He was… fragile. Shit, Eddie realises he sounds like his mother. It’s not wrong though, Eddie decides that if Richie wants Eddie, he’ll come to him. He won’t coddle him, avoid him or push him. Surely trying to kiss the guy was enough of a signal for Richie to know Eddie wanted this, right? 

Reassuring himself that he can let this one thing be out of his control, Eddie tosses on an old t-shirt, so well-worn and soft that Eddie refuses to throw it out, despite the hole under the left armpit. He pulls out a pair of sweats to match, then thinks better of it and yanks on a pair of running shorts. He was going to let Richie come to him, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t give him a little nudge in the right direction. He avoids looking in the mirror to keep his nerve as he quickly makes up the bed and heads for the door. He almost jumps out of his skin when he opens the bedroom door to find Alan hovering there, silent and serious.

“ _Je_ sus Christ!” Eddie yelps, doubling over in the doorway with a hand pressed to his now-racing heart.

“Nope. Just me, Mr Kaspbrak”, Alan replies, straight-faced.

“You spend too much time with Richie”, Eddie grumbles, following Alan as he turns and starts off down the hallway.

_“Every day of my life”,_ He hears Alan sigh behind him.

***

By the time they reach what Alan tells him is _‘Richie’s favourite living room’_ , the whole room already smells like grease and french fries. As soon as Eddie rounds the corner, he can tell why this is the room Richie would choose to spend the bulk of his time in. There’s a large coffee table in the centre of the room, the entire surface covered with food and with a dozen or so bean bags scattered around it. There was a huge television mounted on the wall with more gaming consoles than Eddie even knew existed hooked up to it. It looks like the rumpus room in the world’s richest frat house. Richie himself is emptying out bags of food onto the mountain already on the table, but he looks up when he hears them enter. The wide, easy smile on his face fades to something softer and more open when he sees Eddie, then his eyes move down to Eddie’s chest and jaw goes lax, lips parting in surprise. Eddie looks down, wondering if he’d managed to miraculously spill something on his shirt during the walk from his bedroom. 

“That’s my shirt!” Richie announces, practically vaulting over the table in his haste to reach Eddie.

Eddie frowns, curling his fingers protectively into the sleeves of his favourite, most comfortable item of clothing, “No it’s not! I’ve had this for years!” he protests.

“Yeah, twenty-two years! I gave it to you the last time we went to the clubhouse before…”

“Before I moved away”, Eddie realises, the memory rushing over him like a wave hitting the shore.

Richie swallows thickly and nods, “Yeah, you ripped yours on a tree branch and you were worried your mom would be mad, so we traded, as if she wouldn’t notice your preppy little polo had turned into a Metallica shirt”. Eddie laughs a little wetly, finally realising why he always slept better in a ratty t-shirt for a band he’d never even liked.

“I can’t believe you kept it”, Richie breathes, gently taking the hem between his thumb and forefinger, like he can’t believe it’s really the same one.

“What, you didn’t keep mine?” Eddie replies, faux-offended.

“It’s hanging in my closet. Could never throw it out even though it didn’t fit… That’s different though”, Richie replies, still distracted by the fabric in his grasp.

“Why’s it different?”, Eddie asks.

Richie looks up to answer and only realises how close they’re standing when the tip of his nose brushes against Eddie’s. Eddie doesn’t move back, but he doesn’t press forward either. Ball is in your court, Tozier.

There’s a long beat of silence before Eddie swallows around his suddenly dry tongue, throat clicking as loud as a gunshot. The noise seems to stir Richie into motion, but Eddie still isn’t sure if Richie leaning in is just wishful thinking until he feels their eyelashes brush together as he lets his eyes droop closed, trying to clear what must have been a mirage from his vision. A cruel trick in the desert for a man who’d been thirsty for decades. Then Richie huffs out a little breath and Eddie can feel it dance across his own lips. The air they’re sharing grows thin, the distance closes, Eddie feels Richie’s trembling bottom lip just barely press against his own-

“CHICKEN NUGGETS!”

Bills war cry forces distance between them quicker than Eddie would have thought possible. Richie had been in his grasp, but when Eddie flutters his eyes open again the other man is about ten feet away, lounging on an overstuffed beanbag with a handful of fries stuffed into his mouth. He looks away as soon as Eddie catches his eye.

Eddie huffs and snatches the box of nuggets Bill is reaching for, just to be spiteful. When Bill looks up at him, bewildered, and reaches for a different box, Eddie snatches that one up too. He storms off to a beanbag of his own, ignoring Bill’s confused “What did I do?” and Richie’s fry-muffled placations.

Eddie sinks into the beanbag and viciously bites a nugget in half. He stops mid-chew when he sees Alan stood in the corner, where he’d been stood the whole fucking time apparently, smiling knowingly at him and rolling his eyes in Richie’s direction. Eddie just smiles back at him, finding it comforting that someone else was privy to what had almost happened, that Eddie hadn’t imagined it. Alan looks pointedly down at Eddie’s legs, then jerks his head back at his employer. Eddie smiles a little wider and nods at him. He lets out a pointed sigh, then wriggles about noisily on his beanbag.

“You alright Eddie?”, Bill asks tentatively, grasping his nuggets a little tighter as if to protect them from Eddie’s wrath.

“Yeah, just can't get comfortable on this thing”, Eddie huffs.

“You want me to go get you a chair?”, Richie offers, just like Eddie knew he would.

“No, I’m good. Just needs a little adjusting, I think”, Eddie replies. He sets his food down and stands up. He turns to face away from Richie, takes a deep breath, then bends over at the waist and starts moving the beanbag around as if he’s reshaping it. He doesn’t straighten up until he hears Richie choke on his food, looking casually back over his shoulder and watches him hack up a lung (and some fries, gross).

“You alright, Rich?”, he asks, voice dripping with concern.

_“Shorts”,_ Richie coughs out, eyes locked on the expanse of Eddie’s exposed thighs.

“What?”, Eddie asks innocently. Bill hands Richie a drink and the comedian forgoes the straw and just yanks the lid off to chug it down.

_“Nothing”,_ he croaks when he’s capable of speech again.

Eddie, satisfied as a job well done, flops back onto his beanbag. “Slow down, Rich, the food’s not going anywhere”.

_“Yeah, it better not be”,_ Richie mumbles, still staring at Eddie’s legs. Eddie’s tempted to have a Basic Instinct moment just for fun, but he contains himself to preserve Bill’s innocence. Though the writer is so obliviously enraptured with his dinner that he probably wouldn’t even notice if Eddie stripped down and gave Richie a lap dance. When he looks back at Alan, the bodyguard gives him an approving little thumbs up. 

***

The rest of the Losers trickle into the room with Ted in the lead, Patty and Stan gratefully accept their separate bag of food, Bev and Ben snag a little of everything and Mike, just to piss off Richie, makes a beeline for the solitary fillet-o-fish on the coffee table. Eddie looks around at his best friends, all laughing and happy as they watch Richie wrestling Mike to the ground over a fish sandwich, and he can’t think of anywhere else he’d rather be. 

***

About four hours later, after two movies and an extensive review of every single food item they’d ordered from Mike (the McDouble took the crown, but he hated the chicken sandwich) it was just Eddie, Richie and Alan left in the room. The other Losers had thrown in the towel and slunk off to bed, though Bill had to be practically carried out after falling asleep on the floor. Richie was draped across his beanbag, forearm thrown across his eyes in melodramatic despair.

“How the fuck did we eat all of that?”, he groans.

“I don’t think I’ve eaten that much junk food since college”, Eddie replies, prodding at his own overstuffed stomach.

“I’m surprised you even ate it then”, Richie hums.

“I was in college, dude. Did you think I’d be eating filet mignon in my dorm room?” Eddie scoffs.

“Well no, but the soon-to-be-former Mrs Kaspbrak doesn’t seem like the junk food type”, Richie shoots back, gesturing at his own ring finger as if Eddie could have forgotten his wife.

“Hmm, there was a two-year gap between moving away from my mom and meeting Myra, that was the sweet spot”, Eddie tells him, letting out a faux-nostalgic sigh.

Richie lets out a shocked, surprisingly giggly laugh.

“Richie? Don’t want to cut your night short, but you have stuff to do tomorrow”, Alan pipes up, sounding genuinely remorseful. Richie checks his watch with a flourish and groans when he sees it’s well past midnight. He heaves himself off of his beanbag and reaches out to help Eddie up. Eddie grabs onto Richie’s outstretched hand and tries not to think about how easily Richie pulls him up.

“Walk you to your room?” Richie offers once they’re both upright.

“What, afraid I’ll get lost in your ridiculously big house?”, Eddie teases.

“It’s not that big!”, Richie protests, using their still-joined hands to gently pull Eddie out of the room, Alan following at a reasonable distance.

“Big enough that your bodyguard still has to keep an eye”, Eddie points out.

“Nah, Alan likes to tuck me in at night”, Richie jokes, looking over his shoulder to bat his eyelashes at the bodyguard.

“Yup, nothing to do with the crazy fan we found in your bed last year”, Alan deadpans.

“I’m sorry- the fucking WHAT?!” Eddie shrieks, stopping in his tracks and turning to Alan for an answer. His sudden stillness pulls his and Richie’s linked hands taught, but Richie still doesn’t let go, actually stumbling backwards to avoid separating from Eddie.

“He had a stalker”, Alan tells Eddie, voice alarmingly matter-of-fact.

“It wasn’t that serious!” Richie protests loudly. Eddie looks between the two of them, head swinging back and forth, waiting for someone to fucking elaborate. Richie cracks first, “She was harmless”.

“She had a knife”, Alan deadpans.

“She was, like, nineteen!” Richie protests.

“She was naked”, Alan informs Eddie.

“RICHIE!”, Eddie hollers, gaping at the other man.

“Alan! She was just an overzealous fan!”

“She wrote you seventy-four letters about wearing your skin”.

“ALAN!”

“She specified that she wanted to use your foreskin as an engagement ring”.

“Jokes on her, I don’t fucking have one!” Richie crows, raising his hand in the air for a high five. When neither of the other men oblige him he lifts his and Eddie’s hands and taps their twined fingers against his open palm. Eddie does his damnedest not to picture Richie’s (apparently uncircumcised) penis.

“This isn’t funny, Richie! She could have hurt you”, Eddie protests.

“But she didn’t, and now Alan walks me to my room, tucks me in and checks under my bed for crazy straight ladies”, Richie tries to reassure him, eyes softening at Eddie’s genuine concern.

“Well, not that I don’t trust you Alan, but I’m going to take a look for myself, just in case”, Eddie decides, continuing down the hallway with Richie jogging to keep up.

“Eds, you don’t know where my room is”, Richie laughs at him.

“I don’t know where mine is either, what’s your point?” Eddie throws back over his shoulder.

“Hang a left”, Alan directs him from about ten paces behind. Eddie thanks him, then drags Richie around the corner.

***

“Are you satisfied? All risks analysed yet?”, Richie teases from where he’s lounging against the door frame to his bedroom, watching as Eddie checks the window locks, under the bed, in the closet, he even rips the shower curtain open with what Richie thinks is way too much enthusiasm until he remembers Eddie knocking on his door to use his bathroom at the Townhouse in Derry because his own was still a fucking bio-hazard. Richie makes a mental note to replace every shower curtain in the house with glass doors. Eddie frowns at him, pulls at the window locks one more time, then nods and joins Richie in the doorway. They watch together as Alan repeats Eddie’s checks, though he also opens drawers and lifts the mattress. Eddie wonders how an intruder could hide in a drawer until it clicks that Alan is searching for drugs. He sees Richie’s face tighten from the corner of his eye, so he turns to him, hoping to provide a distraction.

“What happened to that promise to walk me to my room?” he asks lightly, bumping his hip against Richie’s. 

“My sincerest apologies, Sir Spaghetti!”, Richie’s whole face lights up and he offers his elbow to Eddie with a flourish, “Allow me to escort you to your chambers”. Eddie laughs and lays his hand in the crook of Richie’s elbow, letting himself be led from the room. He expects another trek through the house, so he’s surprised when Richie just walks him across the hall and gestures to a vaguely familiar door. When Richie opens the door, Eddie sees his own suitcases and freshly made bed inside. When he looks up to question Richie, he finds the other man avoiding his eyes, blushing.

“Wanted to keep me close, huh?” Eddie asks, a smile creeping slowly across his face.

“Shut up”, Richie grumbles, but he still doesn’t pull his arm out of Eddie’s grasp.

“If I hear a woman screaming about your foreskin, I’ll be close enough to come help”, Eddie says with a thoughtful hum.

“Yeah, it’ll be nice for you to see your mom again, I guess”, Richie snarks, quickly ducking to avoid the open palm Eddie aims for the back of his head. Eddie fails to let go of his arm quick enough and gets tugged along for the ride. Richie, not anticipating the added weight of Eddie, overbalances and they both go tumbling to the ground. Richie hits the ground first and gets the breath knocked out of his lungs by Eddie dropping on top of him. Richie, dazed, opens his eyes to see Eddie poised over him and acts on instinct. He rolls them over and covers Eddie’s body with his own. He waits for the burning pain in his arm and the sound of a claw hitting rock, but it never comes. There’s just ringing in his ears and heavy breathing against his neck, then Eddie’s voice breaks through.

“-hie? Richie? Are you okay? Can you hear me? We’re okay, I’m okay. We made it out. We’re in your house in LA and the others are all safe in bed”.

Richie feels, rather than hears it when he whimpers as he slumps against Eddie in relief.

“You with me, Rich?”, Eddie asks. Richie can feel the words vibrate through his ribcage, his whole, unbroken, unmarred chest. He nods into the crook of Eddie’s neck and brings a hand down to rest over Eddie’s heart, pressing down to reassure himself that it’s still beating, not still and punctured under Neibolt house. In return he feels Eddie slip his fingers under the sleeve of his shirt and rub back and forth over the long line of stitches holding his bicep together.

_“M’sorry”,_ Richie whispers.

“You’ve got nothing to apologise for, Richie. You saved my life”, Eddie tells him, reaching up to brush Richie’s curls back from where they’re tickling Eddie’s neck. Richie hums and leans into the touch, so Eddie keeps going, gently separating out the strands that get snagged. They lay there on the hardwood floor for a little while, ignoring how bad the hard surface must be for their aging joints. The silence is peaceful and Eddie finds himself struggling to remember a moment in the past twenty years where he’d felt at peace the way he does in this one. Silence with Myra always meant he had done something wrong and the silence was an oppressive precursor to her blowing up at him. This silence is an excuse to hear the tiny noises that Richie makes without even knowing it, the slowing breaths, the little snuffles as he noses at Eddie’s jugular, the sharp inhales when Eddie’s fingers tug a little too hard at a tangled curl. 

_“I love you”_

The whisper is so small that Eddie would have thought he’d imagined it if not for the feather-light feeling of Richie’s lips moving against his skin as he spoke. Eddie’s hand stills in Richie’s hair.

_“…Richie”_

_“I don’t expect you to say it back, I know you don’t feel that way. I just wanted you to know”_

Eddie knows that Richie won’t accept reciprocation right now, too stuck in his own head. So he decides that actions speak louder than words. He gets a gentle grip on the hair at the nape of Richie’s neck, pulls the other man’s face away from his neck and swallows the resulting moan right from Richie’s lips. Richie pulls in a sharp breath through his nose and Eddie feels his fingers scrabble at his chest, eventually curling into a fist in the fabric of his shirt (their shirt?). After a few tense seconds where Eddie somehow convinces himself that Richie meant platonic love, the comedian starts to kiss him back. Trembling lips move tentatively against each other in a kiss that manages to be chaste and also the most passionate kiss of Eddie’s life. Eddie tilts his chin forward, trapping Richie’s bottom lip between his own and nipping at it gently, experimentally, with his teeth. Richie jolts a little and lets a little groan rumble between them. They’re eventually forced to come up for air but they don’t go far, keeping their foreheads pressed together as they gasp into each other’s gaping mouths.

_“So… uh, was that, like, payback for saving you from the world’s most extreme nipple piercing?”,_ Richie whispers, giving Eddie an out, hoping he won’t be so devastated if he makes the rejection feel like it was his idea.

_“I love you too”,_ Eddie mutters into the space between the hinge of Richie’s jaw and his ear.

“Like… as a friend?” Richie chokes out, Eddie graciously pretends he hasn’t noticed the tears welling up in his eyes.

“No, like as a person who wants to spend the rest of my life with you”, Eddie tells him patiently, dragging the tip of his nose down the line of Richie’s prominent cheekbone.

The floodgates open and Richie kisses Eddie again, muffling a sob against his mouth. Eddie brings his hands up to frame Richie’s face, thumbs gentling the tears off of his cheeks. Richie manages to hiccup out several more confessions of love before the tears dry up.

“Rich, I love you, but I’m forty years old and I can feel my spine deforming on this floor”

Richie just laughs and jumps to his feet, hauling Eddie off the floor and pulling him into a tight hug. Eddie hides a smile in Richie’s chest when he feels the taller man press a gentle kiss to his hair.

“Well, lucky for you, I just so happen to have it on good authority that there’s a bedroom right across the hall that’s certified crazy lady free”, Richie says, waggling his eyebrows suggestively even though Eddie can’t see it.

“What’s in it for me?”, Eddie teases, already moving to the door.

“Can I interest you in a foreskin ring? I could track down the mohel who performed my bris, see if he hung onto it?” Richie offers, catching up to Eddie and slinging an arm around his waist.

“Gross, Richie! Why would he hang onto it?!” Eddie baulks.

“Why, because of its impressive size, of course!” Richie blusters, as if it’s the obvious answer.

“Idiot”, Eddie scoffs, leaning further into the other man’s hold.

“Yeah, you love me though”, Richie grins at him, pulling open the door and ushering him through.

“Yeah, I really do”.


	5. Caught, Closet... Cum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddie and Richie try to keep quiet about the recent change in their relationship status. It doesn't go well for them. Stan and Bev makes threats. Ben has a sing-song. Bill puts his foot in his mouth. Mike stirs the pot. Patty is sleepy. 
> 
> (Also a smutty scene)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: Sex scene, suggested non-consensual outing, mention of stitches.  
> The song Ben mentions is Eddie Baby by Felix Hagan & the Family
> 
> Also yes I am returning to this fic after like nine months, what about it?  
> (Obligatory reminder that I'm super duper dyslexic and to please tell me about any spelling/grammar mistakes)

When Eddie opens Richie’s bedroom door the next morning in just his boxers, he’s fully intending to sneak back to his own room to get dressed for the day leaving no-one any the wiser to how he’d spent his night. So, after taking one last smug little look at Richie spread out, boneless and snoring, across his bed, Eddie creeps to the door and eases it open. What he doesn’t expect, however, is to open the door and see the Losers all camped out in the hallway with knowing looks on their faces.

“Good morning, Edward”, Stan chirps cheerfully, but quietly enough not to wake Patty who’s sleeping on his shoulder.

Beverly just smirks at him and holds out two cups of coffee, “You look like you need a little pick-me-up, didn’t you sleep well?”

“You sure are visiting Richie’s room early, huh?” Ben adds, eyes wide with false innocence.

Bill’s voice is dripping with concern when he says, “And you’ve got b-bruises on your neck, are y-you alright?”

Hearing a snicker from somewhere to his left, Eddie turns his head to see Alan stood at the end of the hallway, fighting to keep a straight face. “You’re a fucking snitch!”, Eddie calls out to him. He takes the cups of coffee and turns his back to retreat into Richie’s bedroom. It’s only after he hears Bev let out a scandalised screech that Eddie remembers feeling nails scrape down his back hard enough to draw blood hours earlier. He darts through the door and shuts it.

The heavy wood slightly muffles the cheering and laughter from the other side, but it’s still loud enough to jolt Richie out of his sleep with a confused little grunt. Eddie watches as he sits up and pushes sleep-mussed hair out of his bleary eyes. He looks soft, warm and like everything Eddie hadn’t realised he’d been missing. He can’t help but crawl back into bed beside Richie, curling himself around the other man and pressing one of the coffee mugs into his hands.

Richie takes a long gulp from the mug, wincing at the bitterness of the unsweetened coffee before he manages to croak out, _“Whassat?_ ”

“We live in this bed now” Eddie tells him.

Richie peers up at him, eyes still half shut. He considers him for a second before snuggling back down, “’kay. Why?”

Eddie presses his cheek to the top of Richie’s head, feeling his curls ticking at his nose, “The others are outside. They know I spent the night in here and I’m not ready for that level of teasing”.

_“Oh”_ , The sleepiness is suddenly gone from Richie’s voice, replaced by something small and tentative, “are you okay with them knowing?”

Looking down at Richie’s face, eyebrows scrunched tensely, like he’s waiting for rejection as if it’s the only option, something inside Eddie snaps. He drains the rest of his coffee then plucks Richie’s out of his grasp and drinks that too. He leans across the bed and gently sets them on the bedside table, swinging a leg over Richie’s hips in the process. It’s easy when Richie’s hands fly up to Eddie’s waist, as natural as if they’d been in this position a million times. He shifts his weight like he’s getting ready to sit up but Eddie just pushes him back down and follows him to brush their lips together gently. “Rich, I would put an ad out in the fucking New York Times if I could”.

_“Richie Tozier bags a babe, read all about it on page six”_ , the comedian breathes out in what Eddie is sure would be a decent Brooklyn paper boy accent if he wasn’t so focussed on trying to press their lips together again.

Eddie indulges him for a second before pulling back again, “joke all you want, Tozier. I’m dead serious”.

Richie smiles weakly at him and tightens his grip on Eddie’s waist, “Okay, Eds”.

Realising that Richie doesn’t fully believe him, Eddie drops a soft kiss right in the middle of his forehead then lays down, draped over Richie’s chest with his face tucked under his jaw. After a few deep breaths and a moment of peace, Eddie feels the tension melt out of the man under him. 

That’s when Eddie strikes.

“Come in, you fucking voyeurs!” He calls out, pressing his palms against Richie’s ears to shield him from the worst of the noise.

Richie jumps all the same, yelping and trying to scramble upright, but Eddie just holds him where he is as the rest of the Losers come rushing in. Eddie grins into Richie’s neck, rubbing a comforting thumb back and forth across his collarbone as the room fills with cheers and wolf whistles. Bev whoops and throws herself on top of them, driving the breath out of Eddie’s lungs with a whoosh.

“Finally!” she hollers, rolling off of them after a rib-crushing hug.

She’s too busy doing a little happy dance to dodge out of the way when Eddie aims a kick at her, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

“Oh p-please, Eddie. We all saw this coming”, Bill rolls his eyes. 

“You’ve both been yearning for years, man”, Ben agrees.

“Oh bite me, Poetry Boy!” Richie finally speaks up, bolstered by the distinct lack of pitchforks and homophobia. 

He knows he’s fucked up as soon as Ben’s eyes light up with a terrifying mix of glee and spite, “at least _I_ never wrote Bev a song!”

Richie can _feel_ all the eyes in the room turn to him as he remembers, just a smidgen too late, all the evenings spent mooning and commiserating over their respective crushes. Ben wouldn't even have known about Richie’s feelings, except he walked in on him in the clubhouse, crappy thrifted guitar in his lap, trying to find something to rhyme with ‘Eddie’. He’d forgotten all about it. Forgotten how he’d comforted Ben when his letters to Bev went unanswered, forgot crying on Ben’s shoulder when Eddie announced he’d be moving to New York right before senior year. Forgot about the two of them ditching prom together to get high at the Barrens and ceremonially toss the corsage and boutonnière they’d bought for the dates they wished they’d had over the cliff. He forgot who Ben was after he left Derry. Just like he’d forgotten everything else. Ben sent letters in the two months between his escape and Ben’s. He remembers every word of them now, how they were upbeat, but not hopeful, like he’d already decided he wasn’t getting a response. And he never did. Richie had opened them, read them and tossed them in the garbage because he’d never known a Ben.

Ben’s bittersweet smile tells him he remembers now too.

Eddie pushes himself into Richie’s eyeline, drawing his full attention just the way he always does. “You wrote me a song?”

Richie sputters, heat creeping up his face, “Uh…no? nope. Definitely not. The clown magic must have scrambled Haystack’s brains a little more than we thought”.

_“Oh Eddie, baby, won’t you come to my arms tonight? I beg and plead you, please succumb to my ch_ _a_ _rms tonight”_ , Ben croons from the foot of the bed. He catches the pillow Richie launches at him with one hand but thankfully stops singing.

“Fuck you, New Kid!” Richie grumbles, tossing his head back in anguish.

Eddie drags his head up again and whispers, awestruck, _“_ _Y_ _ou wrote a song for me”_ , against his lips.

“It’s not that impressive, he rhymed tonight with tonight”, Ben teases from where he’s now sitting, criss cross applesauce, at the foot of the bed.

Richie peeks around Eddie’s head and tosses his middle finger up at him, “Fuck you! Where’s the rhyme in _‘embers’_ and _‘too’_? I was, like, fourteen!”

Eddie threads his fingers into Richie’s hair and tugs him back into place, ignoring the Richie’s barely audible whimper. “You wrote a song for me when we were _fourteen?”_

Richie blinks at him dumbly for a second, scalp tingling from Eddie’s tight grip. “Uh yeah, Eds. I’ve been carrying a torch for you for longer than Ben’s embers have been burning for Bev, if you know what I mean”, he waggles his eyebrows, doing his best to seem unaffected. 

“I’m so glad you finally got your shit together”, Bev sighs. She’s clearly talking to Richie and Eddie, but the way she reaches out to brush her fingers against Ben’s hip speaks volumes.

“I’m just glad you’re both somewhat dressed”, Stan pitches in, gently lowering a somehow still sleeping Patty onto the bed. She immediately curls up against Bev’s thigh and starts to snore softly as Stan looks down at her adoringly.

There’s a firm knock on the door, followed by Alan’s familiar voice calling through, “Rich? Sandy’s here for your eleven o’clock appointment”.

Richie cranes his neck towards the door, finally breaking Eddie’s grip on his hair, face lighting up with excitement, “Did she bring my baby?”

“And frappuccinos” Alan confirms.

Richie lets out a little cheer and sits up, carefully rolling Eddie into a comfortable position on the mattress and doing his best to avoid squishing any of the other Losers as he gets off the bed.

“Who’s Sandy?” Bev asks, noticing the way Richie falters for a second.

He reaches for a robe hanging on the back of a plush armchair and draws it around himself, “She’s my publicist”

“And your girlfriend”, Mike adds lightly.

_“…What?”_ Eddie asks, waiting for a punchline.

“What the fuck, Mike?”, Richie crows, tossing a balled up sock at Mike’s head.

Eddie tries to ignore the heavy, sick feeling quickly settling in the pit of his stomach, “You have a girlfriend?” he asks.

Richie turns his attention on him, face devastated, but not in a guilty way, not like someone who has been caught in a lie. It’s more like he’s upset that Eddie is hurt. “No! I mean, kind of, but not really. It’s… it’s a cover, Eds.”

“What?”

Richie sighs and rubs his eyes tiredly, “She’s a beard. We go out on dates and we hold hands for the paparazzi so nobody thinks I’m gay. Because I’m a fucking coward, but I’m not a cheater. I swear, Eddie. I wouldn’t do that to you”. Eddie smiles at him as reassuringly as he can manage. Richie’s shoulders drop in relief, but his returning smile is a little shaky. 

“What about that Roland guy yesterday? Who was he? And what’s his address?”, Stan asks.

“His… his address?” Richie repeats.

Stan nods, pleasant little smile on his face, “I just want to talk to him”.

Richie barks out a laugh, “Okay Tony Soprano. Roland’s an asshole but I feel like not even _he_ deserves whatever you’re thinking of. We were together secretly for about four months, then he cheated on me for the next six. I dumped him about three months before Derry when a pap snapped a shot of him kissing some guy at a nightclub. End of story. Not a big deal”.

Bev hums mildly and turns to Stan, “I bet we could get his address from one of those maps to stars’ homes”.

Richie just drops a kiss on Eddie’s forehead and heads for the door, only throwing a “Please don’t murder my ex”, over his shoulder.

“I’ve killed one clown, two isn’t a stretch”, Eddie muses once the door shuts behind him. The room explodes into laughter, which quickly turns to yawns as the early wake up call to catch Richie and Eddie red handed starts to take its toll. Wordlessly, they shuffle around on the bed until they’re all settled in surprisingly comfortably. Then, in the warm and snuggly silence between asleep and awake, Bill ruins it. 

“To b-be fair, Eddie, you are s-still married”, the mattress shifts in six different places as everyone still awake turns to look at Bill in disbelief, “So, t-technically, if anyone’s c-cheating-”

“Shut the fuck up, Bill” Bev hisses, throwing an elbow jab at his ribs in the darkness.

***

Downstairs, Richie is curled up on a couch, Holly yapping excitedly between licks at his face. “Hi, baby! I missed you so much! Was Auntie Sandy good to you, huh?”

Sandy scoffs from where she’s sprawled out on an armchair opposite him, pulling a laptop out of her backpack. “You think I wouldn’t take your impromptu vacation as an excuse to spoil my niece? Who the fuck do you think I am?”

Richie winces, “Speaking of, how badly did I fuck myself?”

“Oh, could be better, could be worse. Lots of theories floating around. Rehab, we eloped, mental breakdown, I saw someone claim you’d joined a cult? My personal favourite is that you had to run off because you’re in negotiations to be on the next season of Dancing with the Stars and had to start training immediately”, Sandy lists, choosing not to tell him about the large subset of tweets claiming he was dead.

Richie snorts out a laugh, “Which story are we going with, then?”

“Depends. You were spotted in Maine a few times last week, so we need a good enough reason for you to be there”, she tells him.

“Uh… middle school reunion?”, Richie offers, technically not lying.

Sandy raises a sceptical eyebrow, “Is that why you were in Maine, Richie? To see your childhood friends?”

Richie sighs, petting Holly gently where she’s curled up in his lap, “Kind of? I mean, it’s a long story that I don’t really want to think about ever again”

“You were _hospitalised_ , Rich. That’s public knowledge now, someone snapped a shot of you in the emergency department of some tiny hospital in a podunk town. I don’t think a childhood reunion isn’t going to fly here” she tells him.

“I wasn’t _hospitalised_! They gave me a couple of stitches and let me go again!”, he protests.

She rolls her eyes at him, “Twenty-five stitches isn't _‘a couple’,_ Richie!” 

“Whatever!”, he groans, “What do we do?”

“We distract from it”, she replies, as if it’s obvious.

“How?”

“Well, you know how I’ve got an in at TMZ?” she asks.

Richie snorts, “If by an _‘in’_ you mean you bribed one of the editors then yes”.

“Well, he gave me a call this morning. Someone came to them with a story on you” she tells him, ignoring the bribery accusation like she always does.

Richie perks up, “Who? What is it this time? Another bullshit pregnancy? A rumour of me cheating on you with some A-list actress again?” he asks, eager for the latest gossip on his own life.

Sandy grimaces unpleasantly, “Roland. He offered them the exclusive about you two, with proof”.

Richie feels all the blood drain from his face, “FUCK! FUCK! What the fuck is wrong with him?!” Holly barks indignantly at him, prompting a quick apology for daring to yell in her presence. She sticks her furry little nose up at him and hops off his lap to sit at his feet instead.

“He’s an asshole”, her voice is venomous, but weirdly calm.

Richie groans and scrubs his hands over his face, “What do we do?”

Sandy reaches into her backpack and pulls out a little black box, sliding it across the coffee table into Richie’s waiting hand. He flips it open to find a pretty silver ring with a large diamond set into it. “We get engaged”, she tells him, “People would always rather have a happy story than a malicious one, and Jonathan has agreed not to run Roland’s story if we give him a time and place to get photos of the proposal”.

Richie pulls the ring out of the box and moves it around to watch it sparkle in the light. It’s gorgeous. It would look amazing on Sandy. It would catch the light and draw attention in paparazzi photos. It would be so easy. They were already _‘dating’_ , they had a perfect arrangement, discreetly seeing whoever they wanted on the side but holding hands on the red carpet. This next step would be so easy, snap a few pictures of him on one knee, have a long engagement. Eventually they would have to fake a wedding. Or have a real one? He’d have to wait at the end of the aisle as Sandy walked towards him to make false promises to each other.

Then he remembers how Eddie looked, soft and smiling and unashamed as he called their friends in to see them cuddle. He remembers how brave Eddie was, willing to square up to a monster to save Richie’s life. He thinks about walking the red carpet with his wife on his arm, then going home to Eddie. His dirty little secret.

“No”.

He doesn’t realise he’s said it out loud until Sandy cocks her head at him questioningly, “No?”.

“I can’t do this any more, Sandy. I don’t _want_ to do this any more”, he tells her.

It takes her a second to catch on, but when understanding dawns across her face, a smile spreads with it, “Are you breaking up with me?”

Richie feels his lips stretch into a mirroring grin, “Yeah, I am. Time for me to be honest, I think”.

Sandy leaps up and crosses the room, throwing herself into Richie’s lap for a tight hug, much to the delight of Holly, who jumps up between them, yapping and licking at them. “I’m so proud of you Richie”, Sandy mumbles into his neck. He hugs her back just as tightly, trying to express ten years of friendship, gratitude and love through his embrace. When she pulls back her eyes are suspiciously damp. She dabs at them as she reaches for her phone. “We need to draft a press release, or a tweet? How do you want to do this? Tweet seems more personal? And we have to get it done fast, Jonathan gave me a two o’clock deadline, so we need to get this out before Roland’s story”

“Definitely a tweet, seems more like me”, Richie agrees. 

“Awesome, let’s get to work.” She starts typing rapidly, not looking away from her screen as she continues, “I’m keeping the ring, though”.

Richie hands it to her with no argument, “Go ahead, I don’t think it would suit me”.

“I used your credit card to buy it”, she adds.

“Of course you did.”

***

Less than an hour later, Mike’s phone lights up with a twitter notification. It rouses him from a light doze as he pats around the bed with his eyes still shut, slapping someone (Bill) in the face before he manages to find it. He squints against the overly bright light of the screen for a second before he shoots upright, startling the rest of the Losers out of their various states of sleep on Richie’s huge bed.

“Holy shit!”

“What? What’s wrong?!”

“Is It back?!”

“Richie?!”

Mike turns his head to see the Losers all wide-eyed and alarmed. Ben angled protectively in front of Bev, Eddie on his feet and scanning the room for threats, Stan is wielding an alarm clock like a grenade. Bill is cradling his face. Patty is still half-asleep, but she’s got her fists up in front of her, like she’s ready to fight off an intruder with her bare hands.

Mike just holds the phone out for them to read.

**RichieTozier.** @Trashmouth 

“Hey Richie, where have you been the past few weeks?”

Oh, you know, just doing gay stuff. Because I’m gay.

**RichieTozier** @Trashmouth

_Replying to @Trashmouth_

No, this isn’t a joke.

**RandyRights** @Lorna1999x

_Replying to @Trashmouth_

SAY SIKE RIGHT NOW! OR I WILL DIE!

**RichieTozier** @Trashmouth

_Replying to @Lorna1999x_

Then perish.

**AlphabetMafiaDon** @JojoBow666

_Replying to @Trashmouth_

King shit. Welcome to the mob.

**RichieTozier** @Trashmouth

_Replying to @JojoBow666_

Oh shit, do I have to whack a guy to get in?

**AlphabetMafiaDon** @JojoBow666

_Replying to @Trashmouth_

Yes, but I will accept whacking a guy off.

**RichieTozier** @Trashmouth

_Replying to @JojoBow666_

…I can’t believe I missed that joke. You want a job?

One by one, as they finish reading, the Losers turn to look at Eddie. He’s staring at the screen, mouth agape for a full ten seconds before he launches himself out of bed and into the hallway, yelling Richie’s name at the top of his lungs.

_“Good for Richie, you go Richie”_ , Patty mumbles, flopping back down onto the mattress again. 

“Should we go after him?” Ben asks.

Mike shakes his head, “We’d only get lost in this fucking maze of a house”

“And Eddie won’t?” Stan asks.

Bill scoffs, “Eddie’s never been lost a day in his life”.

Stan doesn’t reply, just curling himself around his wife and dozing off again. The rest of the Losers follow suit, content to nap until something else interesting happens.

***

Eddie runs through the halls, taking corners at a frankly alarming speed, almost falling more than once. He doesn’t know where the fuck he’s going, but he knows he’s there when he reaches an open doorway leading to a cosy little living room. It looks out of place in the huge modern house, with an overstuffed, ratty couch and chipped coffee table. Richie looks right at home lounging in his fleecy robe with a fluffy dog at his feet, and Eddie is suddenly hyper-aware that he’s shirtless and scarred in front of the strange woman sitting across the room from Richie. She notices him first, looking him up and down confusedly and drawing Richie’s attention to him.

Richie looks up from his rapidly dinging phone and the stressed expression on his face melts into an easy smile when he sees Eddie standing there.

“Hey Eds- _Oof!_ ” the breath whooshes out of Richie’s lungs as Eddie tackles him

They topple backwards together, Richie’s outstretched arm being the only thing stopping them from rolling onto the floor. They end up perched precariously right on the edge of the couch, nose to nose.

_“Hi”_ , Richie tries again, a little more breathless this time.

“Hi, I saw your tweet. I’m proud of you”, Eddie pairs the soft words with a kiss on the tip of Richie’s nose.

Richie goes cross-eyed to stare at his nose, as if he’s expecting to see physical evidence of Eddie’s affection, “Yeah, I’m going to put your initials in my Twitter bio with a little heart”.

“Hi, I’m Sandy.”

Eddie turns to see the woman, Sandy, looking at them with a pleasantly bemused expression on her face. What a great first impression to make on your boyfriend’s beard. 

He sends a little wave her way, “Hi, I’m sorry for stealing your boyfriend”.

“Water under the bridge, I got a fifteen grand consolation prize” She grins, waving her diamond adorned hand at him.

Eddie’s eyes shoot to the huge diamond, “Fifteen grand?!”

“For fucks sake Sandy!”, Richie exclaims, more impressed than upset. He hooks his arms around Eddie and hefts them both upright, missing Eddie’s little yelp of shock and the colour that floods his cheeks at the blatant show of strength.

Sandy shrugs at him, sly little smile creeping across her face, “You told me to take charge of your credit cards! What did you expect?”

“ _F_ _ifteen grand_ _!?_ ” Eddie repeats, reaching out to inspect the ring.

Sandy places her hand in his obligingly, “Please, he’s spent more than that in toy stores”

Eddie turns to look at Richie, aghast, “fucking _how!?_ ”

Richie glares at Sandy, then sheepishly explains, “It was right before Christmas and a lady in front of me had her card get declined so I paid for her stuff. Then I didn’t want to leave anyone out so I just paid for everyone”

“…You paid for a whole store full of people to buy Christmas toys?” Eddie replies incredulously.

“Yeah, it was like fucking supermarket sweep, it was amazing. I got an X-Box”, Sandy chips in.

Richie barks out a laugh, “You’re a fucking menace”. Their laughter is cut short by the shrill ringing of a phone.

“Oh look, Steve’s calling”, Sandy says casually, looking down at her phone screen with the most horrified look Eddie’s seen this side of Maine.

Richie hisses out a breath between his teeth, “Ah, fuck. We’re gonna’ be in _so_ much trouble”.

“ _We?!_ You’re the one who tweeted!” Sandy baulks, tossing the phone to Richie.

He catches it automatically, but throws it back to her right away, “You helped draft it!”

“It was _your_ idea!”

“Sandy I swear to god I _will_ take back that ring!”

Her eyes dart between the still-ringing phone and the sparkling stone on her finger. “ _I fucking hate you Tozier-_ Steve! Hi, how are you? …Yep, I’m with him… yeah, I did know. Uh huh, uh huh. Well, I don’t think that’s- yep. I- no- if you-”.

She pulls the phone away from her ear and rolls her eyes at them, obviously unhappy with being continually interrupted. When the voice on the other end of the phone realises she isn’t responding any more, they start getting louder and angrier. Loud enough that Eddie and Richie can hear snippets from across the room.

_“Say it’s a hack… ruined his career… faggot…_ _you_ _stupid bitch!”_

Richie goes tense under Eddie, reaching out to snatch the phone and press it to his own ear. “Shut the fuck up. STEVE! SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he roars. The voice (Steve, Eddie fills in) goes quiet. “Who the _fuck_ do you think you are, talking to Sandy like that?” He stays silent for a second, but Steve doesn’t answer, “I’m waiting? ... No? Nothing? Awesome, nice working with you Steve, don’t ask me for a reference for your next job.” He hangs the phone up on his stuttering now-former manager and tosses it back to Sandy. She stares at him, mouth hanging open a little. He looks down at Eddie and feels heat rising in his cheeks when he sees the openly hungry look on his face.

“Hey Sandy”, he’s a little breathless and doesn’t break eye contact with Eddie as he speaks, “could you take Holly to her room and then start putting the feelers out for a new manager please?”

“Sure thing”, she agrees, rapidly packing up her stuff and heading out of the room with the dog following obediently behind her.

“It was nice to meet you Sandy”, Eddie calls to her.

_“Bye Sandy”_ , Richie echoes faintly.

The second he hears the door swing shut, Eddie surges up and captures Richie’s mouth in a vicious kiss. Richie is so taken aback that he can’t hold himself up and they both flop gracelessly back against the couch cushions, lips separating with a slick pop that Richie wants to hear on repeat for the rest of his life. Eddie doesn’t skip a beat, swinging one leg over to straddle Richie’s lap and latching onto his throat instead. He bites down, hard, and Richie can’t hold back the strangled groan that bubbles up from his chest. He can tell that Eddie’s left a mark behind when he hears the satisfied little hum. He manages to catch his breath enough to speak as Eddie laves his tongue over the tender patch of skin, “Not that I don’t - _ah!_ \- appreciate it, Eds, but w-where did this come from?”

_“Phone- mad- sexy”_ Eddie grunts out between nips at Richie’s jawline. With how hazy the attention is making his brain already, Richie thinks he can be forgiven for the length of time it takes him to process.

“You _liked_ me yelling at Steve?” he asks, confused and horny and not sure which one should be a priority.

Eddie leans back to look him in the eye. He smirks at how obviously flustered Richie is, eyes blown wide, chest heaving, “I _liked_ seeing you stand up for yourself. Always did”. He rolls his hips, pressing himself against the softness of Richie’s stomach to let him feel just how much he likes it. He grabs Richie’s hands when they move to his hips, tangling their fingers together and pinning them down by his ears instead, revelling in the reflexive little hitch in Richie’s breathing.

Eddie starts a steady, filthy grind of his hips against Richie’s. “I _like_ seeing you be strong, and powerful, and brave. I love seeing you take what you want. I love _you_ _._ And I think you deserve a reward for being so brave”.

Richie whines and flexes his fingers, but he doesn’t try to break Eddie’s loose grip, “ _Fuck,_ yes please! Bedroom?”

Eddie shakes his head “Can’t, the others are still napping there”

“Fuck” Richie tosses his head against the cushions, “The door locks” he gasps out.

“We can’t have sex all over the house”, Eddie denies, but rewards Richie’s initiative with a particularly hard thrust.

“ _Ungh_! Why not? It’s my house”, Richie whines, long legs coming up to try and force Eddie to speed up or go harder. Anything. He almost screams in frustration when Eddie stops moving completely and shifts back when Richie strains forward. He gathers himself enough to focus on Eddie’s face and sees it scrunch up in deep thought. Sensing he needs a little nudge, Richie drops all semblance of dignity. “Please, Eddie. _Please_ don’t stop”. He thinks he’s blown it, that it was too cheesy when Eddie rolls off of him and stands up. He breathes a sigh of relief when he just locks the door and comes right back. He stands beside the couch and stares down at Richie, squirming against the couch cushions, erection visibly tenting his boxers where his robe has fallen open. His smile goes a little sharper when he sees that Richie hasn’t moved his hands an inch, leaving them right where Eddie had pinned them.

“Look at you” he hums approvingly, gaze so heavy that Richie swears he can feel it travelling up and down his body. He stares silently for long enough the Richie starts to squirm and twitches a hand as if he’s going to reach out for his boyfriend.

Eddie’s on him in a second, pinning his hands down again and ghosting their lips together. _“Don’t move,_ _sweetheart_ _. Be good for me”_ , he whispers against Richie’s lips. Richie nods his head frantically, not trusting his voice to hold up in the face of whatever sex demon has possessed Eddie. He clenches his fingers in the fabric of the couch when Eddie releases his wrists, revelling in the approving nod he gets in return. Eddie runs his hands gently down Richie’s chest, fingertips slipping beneath the robe just enough to be teasing. He watches Richie squirm, wide eyes laser-focussed on Eddie’s hands. The smaller man trails his fingers up high enough to scrape a nail over Richie’s left nipple, leaning down to drink the pleasured gasp right from his lips. _“Eyes on me, baby”_ , he whispers, grinning as Richie immediately snaps his focus back to his face. Eddie quirks a challenging eyebrow at him and rolls the nipple between his thumb and forefinger. Richie whimpers and arches his chest up into Eddie’s grasp, but keeps eye contact. Eddie increases the pressure and adds a little tug, just to feel Richie’s tightly coiled muscles bunch underneath him. He gives him a minute to catch his breath before he slides his free hand up to trace tight little circles around Richie’s right nipple, never letting up the pressure on his left.

_“Fuck,_ Please, Eddie please!”, Richie gasps out, eyes still locked on Eddie’s.

“We’re getting there” Eddie agrees mildly.

He keeps up the torture for another few minutes, feeling Richie’s left nipple swell and his right perk up in search of more attention. Only when Richie’s eyes go hazy and unfocused does Eddie switch tactics, viciously pinching the right and dipping down to brush his tongue over the poor abused left one. Richie _howls_ , hips bucking up so hard that Eddie has to throw a hand down to stop himself from tumbling off the couch onto the floor.

“Eddie! Eddie, Eddie, please! Fucking _please_! I can’t take it any more” Richie wails desperately. But not desperate enough, Eddie notices smugly, to move his hands.

“Okay baby. You’re doing so good”, Eddie coos, hands slipping down to Richie’s hips, pausing at the waistband of his boxers until he gets a nod, then diving in and immediately wrapping his fingers around the girth of Richie’s cock to pull it out. Long legs kick out mindlessly at the pleasure and Eddie ducks down and tosses them over his shoulders to avoid getting hit. He presses forward until he’s got Richie folded almost in half, hips bucking to try and fuck himself into Eddie’s fist. Eddie just tuts at him and slackens his grip on Richie’s cock until he gets the message and drops his hips back onto the couch, panting with the effort of keeping still.

“Good” Eddie praises him again, then tightens his fist and strokes him from root to tip in one tight, smooth motion. Richie moans, back arching up as Eddies repeats the motion twice more.

_“Eds, Eddie_ _!_ _”_ Richie wails.

“Yes baby?” Eddie answers, tracing patterns with his thumb on the wet tip of Richie’s cock.

Richie thrashes his head against the pillow. “You too”, he groans, it comes out more pleading than demanding.

Eddie, on the same wavelength as always, obliges and reaches down the fish his own dick out of his underwear. He’s suddenly painfully aware of how hard he is. He drops a hand beside Richie’s head to brace himself then takes them both in his other hand, groaning when Richie bucks and rubs them together. Knowing it isn’t going to take much for him, Eddie lunges down and takes Richie’s mouth in a passionate kiss as he speeds his hand up on them. He relishes the feeling of Richie’s lips being just a little too slow to keep up, hazy and sluggish with pleasure. He pulls back again when he feels Richie’s heels dig hard into the flesh below his shoulder blades, the muscles of his inner thighs twitching against Eddie’s neck. As soon as his mouth isn’t occupied, Richie starts hiccuping out desperate little _“ugh, ugh, ugh”_ noises that go straight to Eddie’s dick. He tightens his grip and speeds up even more.

“C’mon Rich. You’re gonna come for me, sweetheart?”, he grunts into the tiny space between them.

Richie keens, long and loud and Eddie watches, enraptured, as his eyes roll back in his head. His hips buck twice more before he spills all over Eddie’s hand, legs going limp and falling off of Eddie’s shoulders. It only takes one look at him, fucked out, limp and gasping with his hands still resting obediently where Eddie had left them. That’s what does it. Eddie moans and comes all over Richie’s chest. Eddie collapses on top of him, ignoring the disgusting squish between them.

“You okay baby?” Eddie asks once he’s caught his breath.

Richie just groans, “ _Can’t feel my legs”,_ Eddie huffs a laugh into Richie’s collarbone, “M’serious. I think I just saw God”

“What’d he look like?” Eddie humours him.

_“Giant turtle”_ Richie mumbles. Clearly not all there again yet.

Eddie hums like he agrees then rolls away from Richie just enough to grab the edge of his robe and give them a cursory wipe down. Once they’re clean enough that he’s happy they aren’t going to stick together, he rearranges the noodles formerly known as Richie Tozier until he’s draped over Eddie’s chest where he can massage the feeling back into the other man’s undoubtedly sore fingers. They lay there contentedly for a while before Richie suddenly goes stiff. 

“Ah fuck”, he groans, pressing his face against Eddie’s chest.

“What?” Eddie asks, trying not to freak out. Had he done something wrong? Was Richie regretting it? Was he regretting coming out? Was Eddie too rough? Had Richie’s stitches popped?

“I just remembered there’s fucking cameras all over the house” Richie answers apprehensively, as if he’s waiting for Eddie to fly off the handle. Eddie has the upsetting realisation that any past partner of Richie’s would have been so concerned with secrecy that they probably would have had a complete meltdown at the mention of cameras. He wants to rage, to scream into the void about how Richie deserves so much better. He wants to flip him over and show him just how precious he is. How well he should be treated. But he’s forty fucking years old, give him a break.

“Oh, I’m so burning the last half hour onto a DVD” he answers instead, thinking about seeing that fucked out look on Richie’s face in glorious high definition whenever he wants to.

“Nobody uses DVDs any more, you fucking hipster” Richie scoffs, but Eddie can feel the smile he presses against his skin.


End file.
